


when the party's over

by ingridthird (emryses)



Series: when the party's over verse [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Season/Series 06, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bipolar Disorder, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-typical language, Episode Fix-It: s05e12 Love Songs (In the Key of Gallagher), Episode: s05e12 Love Songs (In the Key of Gallagher), Fix-It, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Kev/Veronica/Svetlana, POV Ian, POV Mickey, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-06-26 12:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emryses/pseuds/ingridthird
Summary: The one where Mickey is the one who leaves. Otherwise known as, yet another Season 6 re-write, a.k.a. Mickey getting the full sentence for attempted murder when there is no evidence other than word of mouth makes literally no sense. Things escalate from there.“No - you listen,” Mickey stops him, “There’s too much shit now, okay? There’s too much shit between us. You fucking - you killed me that day Ian, and I can’t just forget that happened and crawl back into your fucking bed, man.”





	1. november

**Author's Note:**

> title from billie eilish’s when the party’s over  
>  _don’t you know i’m no good for you?_  
>  _i’ve learned to lose you, can’t afford to_  
>  _tore my shirt to stop bleedin’_  
>  _but nothin’ ever stops you leavin’_

**OFFICIAL WITNESS STATEMENT OF MIKHAILO ALEKSANDER MILKOVICH**

**10TH DISTRICT CHICAGO POLICE**

POLICE: Can you state your full name and address for the record?  
MM: Mikhalio Aleksander Milkovich. 1955 Zemansky Road, Chicago, Illinois.  
POLICE: Can you briefly describe the events that occurred at North Wallace?  
MM: I was visiting friends. I was outside on the sidewalk. Sammi came up to me yelling and screaming and pointing a fucking gun at me so I started to run. She shot the gun at me a few times, didn’t hit me.  
POLICE: Sammi is Samantha Slott?  
MM: Yeah.  
POLICE: Who were you visiting?  
MM: Her half-sibling’s house. She used to live there.  
POLICE: Is there any reason Ms. Slott would want to chase after you with a gun?  
MM: Not that I know of. Maybe she didn’t like that I’m gay.  
POLICE: You believe Ms. Slott’s attack on you was a hate crime towards your sexuality?  
MM: Maybe.  
POLICE: Who were you visiting? Can you state names?  
MM: The Gallaghers. Frank Gallagher’s kids. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.  
POLICE: Ms. Slott claims that you attempted to have her killed.  
MM: That’s not true.  
POLICE: She claims that you drugged her and put her in a moving crate a few nights ago at the home of Frank Gallagher and his children.  
MM: I was at the Gallagher’s a few nights ago, helping watch some of the youngest kids that night. Sammi was there, but I did not touch her.  
POLICE: Who was with you that night at the Gallagher’s?  
MM: Debbie Gallagher.  
POLICE: What is your relation to the Gallaghers?  
MM: Family friend.  
POLICE: What were you doing on the sidewalk?  
MM: Talking to one of the Gallaghers.  
POLICE: Can you provide names?  
MM: Why does this even fucking matter?  
POLICE: Names, Milkovich, we need full context of the events.  
MM: I was talking to Ian Gallagher outside the house. He had just shown up from disappearing with his mother, Monica Gallagher for a few days. He’s bipolar and unmedicated, and I was seeing if he was okay. We were talking, arguing, and Sammi showed up out of nowhere and starting shooting a fucking gun at me. That’s all.  
POLICE: What were you and Ian Gallagher arguing about?  
MM: He was breaking up with me, okay? Do you have all the fucking information you need now?  
POLICE: That will be all.

**END OF STATEMENT**

* * *

The douchebags at the jail hold Mickey for over twelve hours before they realize there’s nothing they can charge him with. They only have Sammi’s word that Mickey tried to kill her, but she was charging after him like a goddamn lunatic with an unregistered gun, so they have a hard time holding him for anything other than disturbing of the peace or resisting arrest. They’re too lazy to even charge him with that so they let him go with a bullshit warning.

Mickey leaves with a solemn and enthusiastic middle finger to them all and begins his walk away. He thinks he might just go back to his place, but he’s worried about what they could find out about the night he shoved her in the box from Sammi. Mickey runs through that night and makes a list of everyone he talked to that night. Thankfully, it’s short. Debbie, Liam, and Frank. Frank was probably too drunk to care, there’s no knowing what Liam Gallagher commits to memory. Debbie could be an issue. Mickey has no fucking clue what she would say if police showed up at her door. The truth, probably, which would be Mickey’s one-way ticket to fucking prison. Not just juvie, _prison_.

He heads home anyway. It’s late, and he’s exhausted, dealing with the Gallaghers can wait until the morning. When he gets to his house, it’s quiet. Iggy is out doing who knows what, who knows where with who knows who. Svetlana is still playing housewife to fucking Kevin Ball, and Mandy fucked off with Kenyatta months ago. (The bitch still won’t return Mickey’s phone calls.) Mickey heads straight to his room and throws himself down face first on the bed.

It’s kind of then when everything actually hits him. He was almost arrested for fucking attempted murder, he was almost shot _again_ , and Ian fucking Gallagher dumped him.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Mickey flips over onto his back and pulls his phone roughly from his pocket. He has no texts. Fucking absolutely nothing from Ian, not even a _hope you’re not getting arrested_ or a _let’s work this out_ text. Mickey has zip. And, god, it fucking kills him.

At least when Ian fucked off to the army Mickey understood where he was coming from, even if it hurt. This - fuck - _this_ makes no fucking sense. Mickey isn’t sure if that makes the situation worse, all he knows is that he feels like his heart has been shot to pieces, spat on, and curb-stomped into the ground. And he’s actually had all of that shit happen to him.

He loves Ian. He’s loved Ian for so fucking long, loved him so fucking much he doesn’t even know when it happened. It’s like he woke up one day willing to do fucking anything for the idiot. And this is what he gets in return. Sounds about fucking right.

Mickey goes to the kitchen, grabs a beer, and waits to pass out.

* * *

The next day he walks straight to the Gallagher’s house, not thinking about the last time he was standing there, _nope_ he’s _not fucking thinking about that right now._ He needs to talk to Debbie about the whole Sammi thing. He doesn’t think the cops will push this thing any further, but he needs to cover every base, even if it means he has to willingly return to the Gallagher house.

Mickey takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. The world seems to be on his side for a moment because Debbie is the one who answers the door.

“Hey,” Mickey says quickly.

“Hi,” Debbie responds, “Are you here for Ian? He’s just upstai-”

That’s the last fucking thing Mickey wants, “No - no, I’m actually here to talk to you.”

“Me? Why?” Debbie asks, a bewildered look on her face. It tells Mickey everything he needs to know. Ian hasn’t said shit about him to his family, but he still asks.

“Ian hasn’t told you what happened? With Sammi?” Mickey asks. Debbie’s face immediately goes white. _Fuck._ Mickey really shouldn’t have dragged her into this. “Guess fucking not - listen, Sammi’s alive, okay? She came after me with a fucking gun, and we both got arrested-”

“Oh my _god_ , are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Debbie immediately starts spewing off questions.

“ _Listen_ , I’m fine - I just - I gotta know that if the police come that you won’t say anything, okay?”

Debbie’s jaw snaps shut, “Gallaghers don’t snitch.”

Mickey shrugs offhandedly. Wouldn’t be the last time a Gallagher fucked him over. (Maybe not the best phrasing.)

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Debbie says, making Mickey look up at her with a _what the fuck?_ Look, “You never touched Sammi that night. You were here with me and Liam, you made pancakes for dinner because it’s the only thing you know how to make, and we put on some stupid movie before you went back to your place.”

 _Ah._ Mickey thinks. _The girl is smart._

Mickey nods, “Yeah. Thanks, Debbie.”

“Debs?” Mickey hears from inside the house. Ian. Mickey spins around on his heels and _fuck-nopes_ the hell off that porch as fast as he can. He can hear Debbie calling out for him, but he can’t deal with Ian right now. Hell _fucking_ no. He’s only made it a few steps out of the Gallagher’s yard when he feels a hand on his arm spinning him around, and he’s staring Ian right in his stupid face. Who, of course, doesn’t say a fucking word but just stares at Mickey, and he still has a goddamn crazy look in his eye.

“They let me go,” Mickey says, throwing his hands in the air, “Sorry I wasn’t arrested and thrown in jail, I’m sure that’s what you would have wanted.”

Ian’s face squints in confusion, “That’s not what I want,” he says.

“Then what the fuck do you want, Ian?” Mickey yells, too mad to even care that he could be drawing attention to the two of them, to the Gallagher’s who are probably watching this from their front porch. “What do you want from me? Huh? You made your point pretty clear, figured you’d want me gone.”

Ian shakes his head, “Mickey,” he steps forward, reaching for him.

Mickey pulls away fast, “Fuck no, _fuck no_ , Ian. Fuck off,” he’s breathing fast, “You wanted me gone? I’m gone, okay?”

And Ian just stands there. Just like he did in front of his house yesterday when Sammi took after Mickey with a fucking _gun._ Mickey can only laugh, running a hand through his hair. Looking at Ian now, Mickey realizes how fucked he looks. Ian’s wearing the same clothes Mickey saw him in last, and he really doesn’t look like he’s showered. Ian’s eyes are dark and red like he hasn’t been sleeping, making Mickey’s heart tug because the last time he saw Ian anything like this it was hot and humid outside, and he was laying in Mickey’s bed and wouldn’t look him in the eye.

But Ian doesn’t want Mickey around. So instead, Mickey just points a finger at him and says, “Take your _fucking_ meds, Ian,” turns around, and walks away.

* * *

Mickey drinks for the next forty-eight hours. Not completely straight, he assumes he had to have passed out for some of it. But when he’s awake, he’s drinking. Call it what you will, but Mickey doesn’t have “healthy coping mechanisms” or whatever the fuck those are. He’s a Milkovich. 

Instead, here he is, hating himself. Hating himself for not getting Ian to a doctor sooner, hating himself for running after Ian every single time, hating himself for telling Ian that he fucking _loves_ him and getting it thrown back in his face.

Ian probably doesn’t even love him anyway. _Fuck._

So forty-eight hours later, Mickey finds himself sitting on his bed, a pile of darts next to his right side, a beer by his left. He’s moved Ian’s photo above the dresser at one point, so he can throw them right at Gallagher’s stupid fucking face.

There’s a knock on his door.

“Fuck off!” Mickey yells in return.

The door opens anyway. Jesus, does no one in his fucking family care about _privacy_? When he looks out of the corner of his eye, he knows who it is - it’s fucking Lip. Of course, because the only people who don’t care about privacy more than his family are fucking Gallaghers.

“Fuck off,” Mickey says, taking a swig of his beer.

Lip scoffs, “Seriously? You’re just going to avoid Ian again? Thought you were done with this shit.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“Ian’s been sitting on the couch for the last three days, we can barely convince him to change his clothes,” Lip spits, “We don’t think he’s consistently taking his meds. Can you come talk some sense into him?

Mickey rolls his eyes, ignoring Lip. Fuck this guy, man, honestly. Mickey’s never liked him.

“ _Mickey_ ,” Lip yells, “Ian _needs_ you, what the hell are you doing?”

“Ian doesn’t need shit from me,” Mickey yells back, “He made that pretty damn clear.”

“What?”

“He hasn’t told you? Dumped my ass right on your front lawn, made it pretty fucking clear he doesn’t want me around anymore. I’m sure you are all thrilled.”

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“Are you actually that fucking stupid?” Mickey spits back, “It’s done. Ian can do whatever the fuck he wants now, I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s on his meds or not.” It’s a total fucking lie, but it seems to finally sink into Lip what Mickey is saying.

“Ian really ended it?” Lip asks like he didn’t believe it or some shit. Like Ian throwing Mickey to the curb isn’t exactly what the asshole has wanted for years.

“Yep,” Mickey confirms, taking a dart and throwing it. _Hard_. This one actually hits the picture right between Ian’s eyes. Nice.

Lip shifts uncomfortably where he’s standing, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He glances between Mickey, and the picture-Ian a few times, looking like he wants to say more, but he’s just standing there like a goddamn idiot. Serves him right.

“Now that we’ve cleared this shit up, can you fuck right off?” Mickey says, throwing him a shit-eating grin and downing the rest of his beer, throwing the can on the floor beside him.

Miraculously, Lip leaves. And Mickey is alone.

* * *

Ian’s sat on the floor in the bathroom with his empty pill bottles on the floor in front of him. This is the right thing to do, flushing the pills again, he knows it is. He can just ride the waves, he watched his mother do it for years. If Monica can ride the waves of his fucking disease, he should be able to do it easily.

The pills will make him feel like shit. So what’s the point of taking them?

Ian gets up from the floor, leaving the empty bottles behind, and goes back to the living room. He’s created a spot for him there, that feels good. It feels safe and secure, no one can get him there, no one can bother him here. Other than his family, who will probably lose their shit once they see the empty pill bottles in the bathroom. But he can deal with that later.

Ian’s thoughts drift to Mickey. It makes him wonder if Mickey would be trying to call him, but his phone died a while ago, and he hasn’t bothered plugging it in. Doesn’t feel like it. There isn’t anyone he really wants to talk to, anyway.

Letting Mickey go was the right thing to do. Ian was sick, forever, and he couldn’t let Mickey stick around for that. Ian didn’t mind ruining himself with this disease, but he wasn’t going to let it ruin Mickey. He knew Mickey was destined for more than what he was getting with Ian. 

A long time ago Mickey had told Ian that he was fucked for life, but little did they fucking know.

Mickey said he loved Ian. But what does that even mean? Frank loved Monica. Fiona loved Jimmy-Steve. Lip loved Karen. Where were they all now with that love? Frank is a drunk with six (five? seven?) kids he doesn’t love, Fiona finds a way to fuck up every relationship she’s had, and Lip - Lip doesn’t even seem interested in a serious commitment to anyone.

And Ian? Ian is a bipolar homosexual living in the South Side of Chicago.

The front door opens. “Hey,” Lip greets him, walking into the living room, “When were you gonna tell us you broke up with Mickey?”

Ian shrugs, “When it came up, I guess.”

Lip gives him a look Ian can’t place, “Dude - why? I mean, not that I’m complaining, but you’ve been obsessed with Mickey for _years_. Just a few weeks ago you were going crazy thinking that it was done between you two. What happened?”

Ian can only shrug again. What did happen?

“It’s just done, Lip. Better this way.”

“Better for who? Because Mickey seems to be pretty upset.”

Ian raises an eyebrow, “You went to see him?”

“Yes,” Lip says, his voice rising, “Ian, you’ve barely left the house in days, you just got back from running off with _Monica_ , and Mickey hasn’t been around. We’ve been worried,” Ian rolls his eyes. Everyone’s always fucking worried about him, he wishes they would give him a goddamn break.

“So I went to see Mickey, thinking he was just being an asshole and avoiding you.”

“And?”

“Said that you dumped his ass. He’s throwing darts at a photo of your face.”

That shit makes Ian laugh, probably more than it should. He laughs, and he laughs, and he laughs until Lip is staring at him speechlessly, looking at him like he’s crazy. That’s when Ian remembers. Oh yeah, he _is_ crazy. That just makes him laugh even more.


	2. november, cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you need?” Svetlana asks, and Mickey is shocked silent for a moment. What does he fucking need? Mickey probably needs a lot of things. He needs a stronger drink, he needs Ian to go on his fucking meds, he needs to just fucking disappear for a while.
> 
> Without Ian, Mickey realizes he’s almost properly alone here in the South Side. All he has is his Russian not-wife and some baby who he’s probably doomed to fuck up in one way or another. It makes his stomach flip and bile rise in his throat. There is literally no reason for him to stay.

Fiona found the empty pill bottles in the trash a few hours after Ian flushed them. And through that, a war broke out across the entire Gallagher household. Fiona refused to talk to Ian unless he went to the clinic and got his medication refilled. Lip and Fiona were angry at one another for not noticing that Ian had dumped the pills in the first place, Ian was mad at both of them for acting like his parents. Fiona and Debbie were mad at each other, for reasons neither of them would tell anyone. Carl and Liam were the only ones who were going to make it out alive, and Carl wasn’t even around to witness any of it.

Fiona yelled at Ian for hours about dumping his pills again, Lip standing between the two of them, trying to get Fiona to calm down. Ian thought for a moment that Fiona was actually going to lunge and attack him. 

_Why the fuck are you doing this to us, Ian?!_ Fiona screamed at him.

_Not everything is fucking about you, Fiona, maybe this is about me, about what I want._

_You want to be a crazy person for the rest of your life? You want to spend weeks in bed, with people you don’t know? You want to run around thinking bad guys are after you, or angels or demons, or whatever? You want to be Monica?!_

That had been the last straw for Ian in that argument, and he marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

There seemed to be a stalemate for a week or two after that. Lip had to go back to college, finishing up final projects and exams. Fiona disappeared during the day and at night, as far as Ian knew she was crashing with Sean. Or maybe it was Gus, her husband. Honestly, Ian had no fucking clue where she was half the time. 

Fiona showed up to take Liam to daycare, make him dinner, and dump him on Debbie for the night. She acted like she was going to ignore Ian, but Ian knew that she was subtly checking in on him without verbally doing it. Debbie was home most nights, but she would mostly just make sure Liam was tucked in, and disappear to her own bedroom.

Ian spent this time alone, mostly. He stayed on the couch, lazily going through the television channels, or he would go out on long walks at night. He felt free for the first time since the diagnosis. He didn’t have anyone constantly badgering him about taking medication, or getting medication, or _talking_ to someone. Alone meant that he could figure things out on his own.

* * *

Mickey was spending his time doing a lot of nothing, drinking throughout the day, sometimes helping Iggy with small gigs. Svetlana would bring the kid over during the day sometimes, and Mickey would spend some time with him.

“Wanna tell me the fuck is goin’ on with you?” Iggy asks Mickey one day, when Mickey’s laying on the couch, eyes staring at the ceiling, a warm, almost empty beer can in his hand.

“Why the fuck you wanna know?”

“Because you’re moping around like some sort of fuckin’ fag,” Iggy replies, “No offence.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. 

“Ian and I broke up,” Mickey supplies, like it’s easy. Like it doesn’t make Mickey feel sick to his stomach, or his make his skin and his eyes fucking burn.

“He do something?” Iggy questions, as if he’s actually concerned.

“It’s a long story,” Mickey sighs, getting up from the couch going to the kitchen, where Iggy follows him.

“The fuck do you want?” Mickey spits at Iggy, who is just standing there in the kitchen staring at him.

“What happened?” Iggy asks.

“Huh?”

“With Ian,” Iggy rolls his eyes, Mickey realizes that’s the first time he’s ever said Ian’s name.

“Why do you wanna fuckin’ know?” 

Iggy shrugs, doesn’t make eye-contact. Mickey knows what that means. It’s Milkovich code for _I care._

So, somehow, Mickey ends up telling Iggy the whole fucking story. Well, the majority of it. He tells him that he and Ian had been sneaking around for years behind everyone’s back. To which Iggy asks, “How did I not fuckin’ know?” and Mickey responds with, “You’re a fuckin’ idiot Iggy that’s how.”

Mickey explains that after he came out at the bar, he and Ian were finally going to be together. But Ian was bipolar, and everything fell to shit. He tells Iggy about the psych ward, about Ian trying the meds, about Ian running away with Monica, and finally he sums up the conversation he had with Ian in his front yard with a, “he ended it.”

“I’ll kill him,” Iggy grunts.

Mickey snorts, “Yeah, no you ain’t.”

“I will,” Iggy responds, “Give me the word and I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

“Leave it alone, Ig,” Mickey sighs, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“You do not fuck with Milkoviches,” Iggy says, pointing a finger at Mickey as he opens the fridge to grab himself a beer, “That’s rule number one in this house.”

As if Mickey doesn’t know what the rules of this fucking house are.

* * *

“Come on, dude, you know the best thing for you right now is to get on some meds,” Lip tries to reason, “I can go with you, I have a few free hours before I need to head back. Why don’t we go right now?”

Ian snorts, rolling his eyes. Lip and him are sitting on the porch sharing a smoke. This is the third time today he has tried to convince Ian to go down to the clinic, and at this point, it’s starting to get funny.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Ian says, his voice coming out scratchy from the smoke. Ian gets up from the porch and begins to walk away.

“Where are we going?” Lip asks.

Ian just shrugs, he never knows most of the time. But Lip follows after him. They begin a casual conversation about nothing. Lip is doing most of the talking, about his work this summer, got some sort of gig with a professor on campus, but he’ll still be home mostly, but out and about during the day.

They end up downtown near all the differing shops.

Across the street, Ian sees him: Mickey, with Iggy walking closely by his side. They also seem to be deep in an argument about something. It doesn’t take long for both of them to notice where Ian is standing next to Lip. What Ian doesn’t expect is Iggy to cross the road and clock Ian straight across the face.

“Iggy, what the _fuck_?!” Mickey cries, grabbing his brother and holding him back. Lip is all over Ian, grabbing at him and checking if he’s okay. Iggy didn’t get his nose, but his jaw is throbbing. Lip moves to go after Iggy, but Ian grabs his arm, holding him back.

“That’s for fucking with my brother, you shithead!” Iggy yells at Ian. That makes everyone pause and stare at Iggy, all arguments forgotten. Ian didn’t think Iggy even cared that Mickey was gay, but apparently, he cares a whole damn lot.

Iggy storms off, leaving Mickey to stand there with Lip and Ian, looking absolutely flabbergasted by what just happened. He doesn’t stick around for long, mumbling a quick, “sorry” before running after Iggy.

“Holy shit,” Lip mutters, turning back to Ian, “You okay?”

Ian just nods, his gut-churning hard, holding back vomit. He thinks he could have fucked up big time. But he pushes that down, and begins to walk away, Lip following closely behind him, their argument lost.

* * *

Mickey’s sitting in the dugouts, smoking a joint that he stole from Iggy’s room. It’s dark out, and though the Milkovich house sits empty most nights, Mickey couldn’t stand being in that quiet house. It doesn’t suit it, that house is supposed to be loud. The fact that no one is in there fighting, yelling, or fucking doesn’t make any sense to him.

So instead, he came here, where it makes sense that it’s quiet. Here, Mickey doesn’t mind sitting in silence with his own thoughts. Here, he can get high for the night before he walks back home and crashes on the couch.

Suddenly, Mickey hears a shuffling in the space next to him. Turning to look, he makes dead eye contact with Ian for the first time in weeks. Of fucking course.

“Of course,” Mickey sighs, taking a drag of the joint. If his high wasn’t just setting in he would probably just fucking leave, this isn’t what he wanted when he came here. He honestly didn’t think Ian would come here.

“Your brother has a good punch,” Ian says.

Mickey snorts, “‘Course he fucking does,” he replies, his eyes flicking to Ian’s face. There’s a dark bruise forming on his chin where Iggy caught him. “You okay?”

Ian nods, hands going into his pockets and his shoulders curling in on himself, “Yeah.”

“What the fuck are you doing here anyway?” Mickey asks.

“I’ve been walking a lot,” Ian replies, looking off into the distance, “I just wander. I like to think.”

He really shouldn’t, but Mickey stands up and faces Ian, finishing the joint, stamping it out and throwing it out into the field.

“What do you think about?” Mickey asks, noticing the gravelly, smoke-filled sound of his voice.

Ian seems to think about that for a moment, before turning to Mickey and saying, “Everything,” like that’s even a fucking answer.

But Mickey is stuck, Ian’s gaze staring him down and freezing him where he’s standing. Mickey’s mind goes blank like it often does around Ian. He stares into Ian’s eyes, crawling over Ian’s face from the line of his cheekbone to the slope of his jaw.

It happens quick, they both move to one another, grabbing at each other. Ian’s grabbing Mickey by his hips and shoving him backwards against the wall of the dugout. Both of them are pulling at their belts, and shoving their pants out of the way.

Ian gets a hold of them first, wrapping his fist tightly around both of their dicks and jerking them together. Ian’s mouth finds its way to Mickey’s neck, sucking roughly and biting down at his skin. It’s so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Mickey groans, thrusting his hips into Ian’s hand, he pushes them apart for a moment, grabbing Ian’s hand and spitting into his palm, putting it back around them so Ian can jerk them fast. Mickey’s hands grappling at Ian’s back, one hand travelling and gripping hard at Ian’s hair, making Ian groan.

It’s like Mickey’s seventeen again. It’s hard and fast, and Ian is marking Mickey up. Mickey can’t help but jerk his hips up into Ian’s fist, and neither of them are making very much noise. Ian’s panting wetly against Mickey’s throat, making him shiver. It doesn’t take long until both of them are coming into Ian’s hand, breathing hard together.

Mickey can feel Ian melt against him as they’re both coming down. His forehead pressed into Mickey’s neck, where he’s sure that there is a massive hickey forming. It could be so easy to stay here like this with Ian. But instead, Mickey feels his eyes burn with tears.

They shouldn’t have done this. Fuck, _Mickey_ shouldn’t have done this.

“Get off,” Mickey says in a rush, pushing Ian away from him, quickly buckling up his pants.

“Mick,” Ian tries to grab at his arm, but Mickey just pushes him away. Doesn’t want to hear shit from Ian, because they both fucking know that Ian could just say sorry, could ask Mickey to come back and he would. This isn’t fucking fair. For either of them.

Instead, Mickey takes off and runs to his house.

When he gets home he thinks he can hear Iggy somewhere, but other than that the house is quiet. He goes straight to the fridge and grabs a beer, and sits down, feeling tears burn in the back of his eyes again. This time he lets them fall.

When he had pictured a life with Ian, this isn’t what he thought he was going to get. Then again, he’s pretty sure this isn’t what Ian pictured either.

He hears someone moving behind him, wiping quickly at his eyes, he turns and sees Svetlana. Fuck, he hasn’t seen her in weeks, she took the fucking rid and ran off.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mickey asks, hoping she can’t see how red his eyes are.

“Came to get clothes,” she explains.

“Where’s the kid?”

“Kev and V.”

“What, so you’re just moving out now? Fucking off on me and taking the kid?” Mickey’s mad, but not necessarily at her. But also, fuck her for taking Yevgeny away from him. He’s been kicking his own ass trying to be a good father for a kid he didn’t even fucking want.

Svetlana merely raises an eyebrow at him, like she fucking knows something is up. She puts down the box she is holding and sits on a chair opposite of Mickey. “Where is your orange boy?”

“Not mine anymore,” Mickey grunts back.

Svetlana stares at him for a moment, before leaning back in her chair, grabbing a cigarette and lighter out of her pocket, lighting it, and taking a drag, passing it to Mickey.

“What do you need?” Svetlana asks, and Mickey is shocked silent for a moment. He blinks at her for a few minutes. What does he fucking need? Mickey probably needs a lot of things. He needs a stronger drink, he needs Ian to go on his fucking meds, he needs to just fucking disappear for a while.

A pit forms in Mickey’s stomach, because he suddenly knows what he needs.

“I need to leave,” Mickey says, refusing to look Svetlana in the eye, “I need to get out of this fucking house, I need to get out of this fucking city.” Mickey takes a drag of the smoke.

“You need to get away from him,” Svetlana supplies, grabbing the cigarette back, “I understand. Nika and I, we were the same.” Mickey realizes he doesn’t even know when Svetlana and her Russian girlfriend fell to shit. He feels guilty for not asking Svetlana about it before.

“I can’t,” Mickey shakes his head, “I promised you I would look after the kid.” And Mickey keeps his fucking promises.

Svetlana considers this for a moment, “Promise to send money to Yevgeny through mail, and I will not stop you from leaving.” Like it’s that fucking easy.

Mickey just shakes his head, running a hand over his face. He can’t just fucking get up and leave Chicago, can he? He considers the rest of his family. Terry is in jail (thank fucking god) Jamie and Joey are long fucking gone. Colin’s serving some credit card fraud charge, Iggy is around most of the time, but he isn’t doing anything close to legal, and Mandy’s off with that motherfucker in Indiana. She ignores all his texts and calls, so all Mickey can do is hope to fucking god she’s alive.

Without Ian, Mickey realizes he’s almost properly alone here in the South Side. All he has is his Russian not-wife and some baby who he’s probably doomed to fuck up in one way or another. It makes his stomach flip and bile rise in his throat. There is literally no reason for him to stay.

“Are you sure?” Mickey asks.

But Mickey _knows._ He knows if he stays Ian will drag him back into him. And of course, that’s what Mickey _wants_ , but it needs to come with a whole lot of other shit. Ian needs to come back with a stable medication, a stable job, and an ability to love Mickey back. But Mickey finds all of that, especially that last thing at this point, pretty fucking impossible.

“Is your choice,” Svetlana says, “But I will just say that I know the feeling where you must run, and I know the feeling of needing to run from someone who will only hurt you again.”

Mickey nods because he _knows_.

* * *

Ian is sitting on the porch having a smoke. His mind hasn’t stopped racing since Mickey ran from him last night.

This whole thing got way out of hand, he thinks. If Ian could just keep his mind going in a straight line he thinks he could figure out where it all went wrong, and talk to Mickey about it. But he just can’t do it. He can’t keep his mind straight, or what he wants or needs or thinks straight.

And Ian is becoming intimately familiar with this feeling. It brings a small smile to his lips because he knows the best part is coming up next.

A car pulls up outside the house and Ian watches as Mickey gets out and starts walking towards him. Ian looks at the car again and sees that Iggy is driving, and thinks briefly that maybe Mickey told Iggy what happened last night and they’re coming here to beat Ian up.

“Hey,” Mickey calls out to him, his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders slumped. He stops before he crosses the line of the gate to the Gallagher home.

Ian breathes out smoke, “Hey.”

Mickey’s eyes are cast down, not really looking Ian in the face, he runs a hand over his jaw. “Came to say goodbye,” he admits.

That perks Ian’s attention, he stands up quickly, “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah I mean - I’ve been thinking I should drop off the grid for a bit. Make sure the cops won’t be coming after me for that thing with Sammi,” Mickey explains.

“They have nothing on you - there’s no evidence,” Ian says, slowly moving closer to Mickey.

“Yeah, well, you never fucking know. Anyway, Iggy has a run he needs some help with, so I offered to go with him,” Mickey shrugs, “He’s going away for a while, Svetlana said it was okay. She’s shacked up with your crazy ass neighbours.”

Mickey has to be making this shit up, Ian wants to call him out on it, but doesn’t know how to say that to him. He must just want to leave and get away from Ian’s crazy shit. Also, Svetlana is living with Kev and V? What the fuck?

Maybe Ian’s selfish. Well, actually Ian knows he’s selfish. But just because he broke up with Mickey doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Mickey in Chicago. He wants to see Mickey around. Right? That’s what he wants? To still see Mickey walking around town, know he’s okay, know he’s better off without Ian.

“Mickey, you don’t have to go,” Ian says, knowing he’s silently begging. _Don’t._

“Yeah?” Mickey shrugs, looking down at his feet, “There’s nothing for me here.” _Don’t what?_

“There’s me,” Ian says. So fucking selfish.

Mickey laughs at that, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

“I mean it, listen to me-” Ian steps forward, trying to grab at Mickey’s arm.

“No - you listen,” Mickey stops him, “There’s too much shit now, okay? There’s too much shit between us. You fucking - you killed me that day Ian, and I can’t just forget that happened and crawl back into your fucking bed, man.”

Ian shakes his head, that’s not what he meant. But he didn’t know what he meant. He meant that - that he has always - Mickey has to stay, he just has to. Ian doesn’t know if he can explain it to him, doesn’t know if it will make sense. Half the shit that comes out of his own mouth doesn’t even make sense to him anymore, _fuck -_

“I think - I think we need space,” Mickey says softly, pulling Ian out of his spiral by putting a hand on Ian’s shoulder, “From each other. And I think you were right about one thing - you ain’t broken, Ian.”

Ian feels like he wants to cry. He might actually be, but he’s not sure. He’s sure of Mickey’s hand squeezing his arm, he’s sure that Mickey is leaving town at any moment, and he’s pretty damn sure he won’t be able to stop him. But he can’t look up at Mickey, can’t meet Mickey’s eyes.

“But - but you need help. You ain’t your Mom, so you gotta take your meds, you gotta get yourself all balanced out, okay?”

Ian can only nod, staring at his shoes.

“Get better, Ian, please, or you’re going to end up fucking killing yourself,” Mickey whispers, “Can you please do that for me?” It’s a manipulation tactic and they both know it. Ian almost wants to laugh at how pathetic that question is but he just can’t. If Ian doesn’t want to get better for himself, why the fuck would he want to do it for Mickey?

“Fucking lie if you have to,” Mickey says.

Ian nods, “Yeah, Mick, I’ll do it.”

Mickey nods back, just standing there. The horn of the car blares, and Mickey turns to look. Turning back to Ian one more time. Ian thinks he could say it now, maybe Mickey would stay if he could just _say it._ But instead, the only thing he can do is watch as Mickey lets out a shaky breath, and walks back to where Iggy is parked across the road. Ian stands there as Mickey gets in the car, and it drives away. Ian stands there staring at the back of the car until it turns a corner and disappears. Then, Ian just stands there for a very long time.

* * *

Lip is walking home from the L train when he notices Ian standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring down the road behind Lip. He doesn’t even seem to notice that someone is walking straight up to him. The look on his brother’s face worries him.

“Ian?” Lip calls out. Ian doesn’t move, and getting a bit panicked Lip starts to jog towards him, “Ian, what’s up?” Ian still says nothing, he’s not even looking at Lip. Does he even know that he’s there? “Ian!” he yells, that snaps Ian out of whatever trance he was in.

“Mickey’s gone,” he says. Ah, shit. Lip knew this would happen eventually - Ian would regret this decision he made. Lip gets it, well, he doesn’t really get why Ian still chooses _Mickey_ of all people, doesn’t get why he doesn’t just move on, find someone at that club he used to work at, but he gets it.

Lip puts a hand on Ian’s arm, “Well he isn’t far away, I’m sure he’ll take you back in a heartbeat.”

“No,” Ian says, “He’s _gone_. He’s skipped town.”

That gets Lip’s attention. Mickey’s never left before, that’s always been Ian’s thing. “How long?” he asks.

“Didn’t say,” Ian says, “Maybe forever.”

Lip doesn’t really believe that shit. Ian’s always been so fucking dramatic, and Mickey doesn’t have anywhere else to go. But he looks back at Ian, and his heart stops. Ian has this look on his face that Lip can’t even describe, he looks so fucking _broken._

“ _Shit,_ ” Ian whispers, “Fuck. _No_ ,” he’s shaking his head, his palms coming up to his eyes. And then he’s crying. Straight up sobbing in the middle of the sidewalk. He’s shaking his head, muttering, _shit, no, fuck no fuck, fuck, fuck_ , bringing in hard, choked breaths. Ian reaches out, and Lip meets him, holding Ian’s arms as his hands grabble at Lip’s shirt like he’s trying to stable himself.

Lip gently pulls at Ian’s arm, and brings him into the house, “It’s okay, Ian, it’s okay,” he’s saying, but Ian doesn’t seem to even be hearing himself, just still muttering to himself. “I fucked up, I fucked up.”

Lip eventually manages to get Ian into bed, gets him water, calms him down. But Ian still lays in his bed, his face red and wet. It almost makes Lip want to steal the next car he sees and try to track Mickey down, bring him back. He doesn’t think he has ever seen Ian this upset about anything, not even Mickey’s wedding.

“I fucked up,” Ian whispers, more tears starting to run down his cheeks, “I really fucked it up.”

Lip gently shushes him, and sits on the floor next to him, running a soothing hand up and down his arm until Ian eventually falls asleep.

The next day, Ian doesn’t get out of bed.


	3. december

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian is floating, and he is sinking, and he is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who commented on the last two chapters with kind messages, I really appreciate it! I'll be trying to update as often as I can. I have the majority of this story written, but the next chapter is still in the works.
> 
> I tried to write bipolar as accurately as possible, but I will admit some aspects are a bit dramatized for the sake of storytelling. If there is anything that is inaccurate, let me know and I will be more than willing to edit the chapter to reflect it better.

Ian is floating, and he is sinking, and he is nothing. Time isn’t there for him, he doesn’t know how long it’s been since Lip put him in this bed. At some points, he isn’t even quite sure where exactly he is. He can hear Fiona from somewhere, murmuring in his ear, sometimes he thinks it could be Lip, maybe Debbie.

He just shakes his head when they ask him to eat, to move, to do anything. Ian can’t do any of that, he feels heavy. Every single part of him feels heavy. His legs, his arms, his head, his chest, his heart. He barely has enough energy to turn over, which means much of his gaze is staring at the door to his room. That is when he’s aware he’s looking at it. He sees Fiona there most of the time, talking to Debbie, Liam. Ian thinks he might have seen Kev and V at some point. Fiona talks on the phone a lot, too, that must be Lip.

Ian knows everyone is worried about him. Ian knows that they want him to get up, to take a drink of water, to eat the toast that someone places by his bed. Ian wonders if they would prefer him to be manic all the time. He wonders if he was just able to get up and leave in the middle of the night if anyone would notice he was gone if they would be relieved.

He is waiting, waiting to wake up and feel energized again. He has a plan, that he will wait until he has enough energy to get out of bed, then he will pack a bag and take off again. He can’t go back to the Fairy Tail, they’ll look for him there. He has to get out of town, and he thinks he’ll be able to. He can go a few hours away, find the best job he can, and he can survive by himself. He doesn’t need to lie around and hurt his family.

Their lives were always better when Monica was gone, so Ian can be gone, too.

Monica. Ian thinks about her a lot. It’s no family secret that Monica and Ian were closer than any of their other siblings. Monica had always treated Ian like he was special, he remembers Monica taking him for ice cream when he was six and telling him, “it’s our little secret, don’t tell your brothers and sisters.” Monica would always hug him closest when she would come back, and when Monica would leave Ian was the one who would cry and sulk for days.

It wasn’t perfect, but he was better than the absolutely nothing or occasional beating Frank gave him growing up.

Ian isn’t sure he loves Monica, but he knows that in whatever way Monica could, she did love him. Maybe it was fucked up, maybe it would never be enough to fix anything. But at least it’s love.

“Hey sweet face,” Ian hears from somewhere. It’s Fiona. He feels her standing somewhere in the room, but his mind can’t focus on where exactly she is. But she’s close, Fiona’s always close.

“I have some food and a drink of water for you, do you think you’re up to it?”

Ian says nothing.

“You have to be a little hungry, Ian, it’s been...” Fiona’s voice fades into nothing, Ian can feel himself squeeze his eyes shut, not even realizing he had his eyes open. He begins to feel the soft pressure of a hand on his arm, stroking gently.

“Why don’t you eat a little something and you and I can go to the clinic today, huh?” Fiona is urging. But Ian is nothing.

“Okay,” he hears, “okay. I’ll come back and see you later today, okay? I have to...” her voice fades into obscurity again, and so does Ian.

* * *

He doesn’t know how long he’s been in his bed. The next time he’s aware of where he is, the room is quiet and dark. Carl’s sleeping in juvie, and Liam isn’t in his crib, but it’s clearly night. Ian realizes that Fiona must have Liam in her room with her.

They must be scared he’ll take Liam like he took Yevgeny.

“Laying in bed again, Firecrotch?” Ian hears the voice in his head. His eyes focus, and suddenly he sees Mickey standing in front of him. Mickey hasn’t called Ian Firecrotch in years, the name disappeared from Mickey’s vocabulary sometime between his juvie stints.

Ian doesn’t say anything back, but he wonders if the volume of Mickey’s voice will bring Fiona into his room.

“Remember the last time you were like this?” Mickey asks. Of course, Ian does. “I had to drag you out of bed and force you to shower.”

Ian remembers that. It had happened probably a few days after Ian had been laying in bed, barely speaking to Mickey. Mickey had told him to _get the fuck out of bed, Ian, please,_ and Ian hadn’t. He couldn’t. Mickey came over to him and grabbed Ian, pulling at him, Ian barely having any energy to fight him off. _No_ he pleaded with Mickey, _leave me alone_. But Mickey hadn’t. He pulled Ian into the Milkovich bathroom, stripped him of the boxers he was wearing and held Ian under the stream.

Ian doesn’t remember much after that, the only other thing he remembers of that time is laying in the bed next to Mickey. Mickey’s hands running gently through his hair, his voice soft and quiet when he whispered, _just let me take care of you._

“It’s pretty fucking pathetic actually,” Mickey says, perking Ian’s attention again, “Can’t even get out of your fucking bed. Who’s gonna force you to shower now you got rid of me?” Ian shakes his head, Mickey doesn’t talk to him like this. Why is Mickey talking to him like this?

“Your family doesn’t want to deal with your fucking shit. Hell, I don’t want to,” Mickey laughs, it’s a cruel laugh, something Ian would never think could come out of Mickey’s mouth, “Oh right, I don’t have to. Thanks for that.” Ian squeezes his eyes shut, he can’t look at Mickey while he’s saying this. Why is Mickey here? Why is he saying these things?

“The best thing you ever did for me was dump me,” Not-Mickey says, his voice reverberating through Ian’s skin, humming with it. Ian knows, he knows he fucked everything up. Mickey’s gone and it’s all his fault. And now, Mickey is free to do whatever he wants, be with whoever he wants.

And it rips Ian apart. He tries to remind himself that he did what was best for Mickey. That Mickey and him being apart while Ian turns into the piece of shit he was always destined to be is exactly what Mickey needs. And Ian knows that he would have ruined Mickey if he had stayed. But Ian wants him, has always wanted Mickey, so, so much.

* * *

Whenever Lip is in the room, Ian knows, no matter where his headspace is. Other people float in and out, leaving water, toast, with hushed and soft voices speaking to him. They all blend together, it could be Fiona, or Debbie, hell it could be Mandy and he wouldn’t even know. But Ian knows when it’s Lip, from the moment Ian was born, Lip had grounded him.

Ian can remember being in the first grade, Lip in the second. He was being picked on by all the older guys, for whatever reason they thought. He was small, he was a redhead, he was a Gallagher, he was poor. It would always make him _so angry_. Lip was always the one who would calm him down so that scrawny six year old Ian wouldn’t go after ten or twelve year olds who were easily fifty pounds heavier than him.

Usually, Lip sits down on the floor beside Ian’s bed and just talks. Ian doesn’t really commit much of it to memory, but he understands the gist of the shit that Lip is saying to him. He’s finishing up his semester at school, he’s obsessed with the professor lady he’s currently fucking. But then there’s the other girl he’s fucking, and he feels conflicted between the two of them. Typical Lip shit.

He literally will not shut the fuck up about the professor lady, though. Ian can’t remember the last time that Lip had been this obsessed with a girl. Or a woman. Probably Karen. Fucking _Karen._ Whatever.

Lip’s talking about her right now. Talking about how she’s _so fucking hot Ian, it’s crazy_. Ian won’t tell him, but he thinks for a moment how fucked up it is that Lip was so mad about him and Kash, but now he’s fucking someone’s mom.

“Are you still letting her husband watch?” Ian manages to croak out, shocked his voice still works. Lip’s head swerves around so fast Ian thinks he might break it for a moment.

“You heard that?” is the first thing that Lip asks.

“You said it,” Ian returns.

Lip laughs, it sounds wet and disbelieving to Ian’s ears, “Fuck, Ian. Do you need anything?”

Ian shakes his head, the question almost makes him want to shut down again, instead he says, “Later.”

Lip stands up and moves to sit on the bed next to Ian, shoving Ian’s legs out of the way so he can sit comfortably, “You smell like shit,” he says.

Ian knows it’s supposed to be a joke, and any other time he would probably laugh, but he doesn’t have enough energy to this time. Instead he just grunts, staring at the ceiling.

“So, uh, I saw that Iggy came back from wherever,” Lip says. 

A dark pit in Ian’s stomach settles weirdly, gurgling and bubbling up inside him. He makes eye contact with Lip, questioning.

“I didn’t see him,” Lip says, and the pit in Ian’s stomach stops moving, and grows larger, becoming a gaping wound, “Just because I didn’t see him doesn’t mean he didn’t come back,” Lip is quick to say it, but Ian knows its bullshit. He _knows._

Ian can feel that he’s starting to lose himself again, and maybe Lip can too, because Lip grabs onto Ian’s shoulder, and Ian grabs on to Lip’s wrist, and he can feel the weight of Lip pushing him down into the bed. Grounding him, always grounding him.

* * *

The next time Ian tried to kiss Mickey after _kiss me and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out_ was in the freezer in the back of the Kash and Grab when Monica and her girlfriend showed up to steal Liam, before Kash walked in on them. Mickey had walked in, and Ian had walked up to Mickey, grabbing his face and pulling him in. Mickey had pulled away, but didn’t say anything. Instead he let Ian bury his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck and mark him up.

Later, when Ian was fucking Mickey hard, quick, desperate to forget anything and everything about the mother who always abandoned him, Mickey reached back and pulled at Ian’s hip. It was the first time Mickey had reached out to touch Ian during sex, and it only made Ian more desperate for him.

Ian had reached forward and linked their hands together on the bar in front of them, and Mickey hadn’t pulled away. Ian thinks he fell in love then and there.

* * *

Ian’s found his voice now. But it’s only some days that he feels able to use it. The same goes for his body. The only time of day Ian feels like he’s able to move himself out of bed to use the washroom is at night, when he’s absolutely certain everybody is asleep.

He sneaks into the washroom to do his business, most days he can only manage using the toilet and scrubbing toothpaste around his mouth. He’s fairly certain that no one knows he’s doing this, and he’s free to do it in peace. Without making anybody think he’s better.

Because he’s not better. He’s ruined. The gaping wound where Mickey was leaves him vulnerable, and alone, and Ian doesn’t think he will ever be complete again, ever be whole.

During the day is when he’s the worst. That’s when he’s floating, when he knows people are watching him, expecting things of him. Ian can be alive at night, he can forget about Mickey, he can forget everything even if it’s just for a few minutes.

* * *

Ian remembers very clearly the day Monica brought Debbie home to meet everyone. (Mostly because a couple days later she and Frank disappeared on a bender for a week and it was chaotic because Fiona, Lip, and Ian were attempting to take care of a newborn.) Ian had been so excited that he was going to have another sibling. It had been him, Lip and Fiona for what felt like forever in his five-year-old mind that he couldn’t wait to add another Gallagher to the mix.

He loved Debbie from the moment he saw her. He loved that they both had red hair and freckles, looking back it’s probably because it was the first time he saw anybody that looked like him. Fiona and Lip always looked so similar when they were kids, and Ian was so opposite to them. Ian would be lying if he didn’t say he spent most of his life feeling weirdly out of place in his own family.

Ian would be lying if he didn’t say that more than ever he feels out of place in his own family.

Debbie is standing in the doorway to the boys’ room, and Ian’s gaze is finally able to focus on her. She doesn’t say anything, but she stares at Ian. Part of him knows this must scare her, just a little bit. The fact that Ian is becoming Monica right before everyone’s eyes scares everyone. 

The house is quiet, Ian notices, feeling himself come into the present. He wonders for a moment if anyone else is home. Lip is probably at school, Fiona at work, Liam ... somewhere? Maybe Liam is downstairs. Fuck, it’s probably bad that Ian doesn’t know where Liam is.

He’s taken out of that thought to Debbie crawling into the bed next to him. For a moment it reminds Ian of when she was really little, maybe like three or four. She had just been moved out of Fiona’s bedroom and into that back corner room, but she was scared to sleep alone. Fiona would always send her away, but Debbie would come to the back room, where Ian had the bottom bunk at the time, and would crawl in next to him so she wouldn’t have to sleep alone. Ian wonders if Debbie even remembers all the times she did that.

“You tell me how you fucked up and I’ll tell you how I fucked up,” Debbie says.

Ian nods. “I told Mickey I was better off without him, but what I really meant was that he was better off without me. Now he’s gone.”

Debbie whispers, “I’m pregnant.”

Ian looks at her. “Fuck.” Maybe Debbie wins.

“I thought I was ready,” she says, “I was so sure that I wanted to be a mom, so I lied to Derek. I told him I was on birth control when I wasn’t and I actually got pregnant.”

“Debbie, that’s nuts,” he says. Since when did that tiny red-headed baby turn into this girl?

Debbie scowls, “Look who’s talking,” she snaps back. Ian has to admit she kind of has a point.

“Have you told Fiona?”

“I did,” she says, “Then I told her the test was negative. But I lied.”

“Are you going to keep it?”

“I don’t know,” Debbie whispers, sounding choked up, “I thought Derek and I could raise it together, but his sister told me he ran off to Florida. I don’t think he was to raise it with me.”

“You’re fifteen, Debs,” Ian tries to reason with her, “You’re too young.”

“Everyone says that, but Fiona was taking care of all of us way before she was fifteen, if she can do it why can’t I?” she’s furious, suddenly, “I want this, I want this fucking baby.” 

“Why?” Ian asks. Debbie actually shuts up at that. “Do you want the baby or do you want a new family that isn’t fucked up?” The thought almost occurs to Ian as he’s saying it. But it kind of makes sense. “Do you want a baby or do you want a mother who is around, and a sister who isn’t your mother, or a brother who isn’t hallucinating and lying in bed?”

All of his siblings, he knows, at one point or another have wanted to not be a Gallagher. It’s a Gallagher rite of passage. Carl and Liam maybe haven’t quite gotten there, but Fiona would have to be a masochist if she hasn’t wanted to run away from the family at least once. Lip had that whole obsession with Ian’s biological father, and finding him. Now Debbie is out getting pregnant with some dude Ian’s never even heard of before.

Never Ian, though. Ian has always been so fucking proud to be a Gallagher. He thinks for a second that maybe it has to do with the whole brother-cousin shit. Maybe he always knew he wanted to be a Gallagher because he somehow knew deep down he wasn’t one.

Well, he’s still a Gallagher, regardless. But he thinks there could be something there.

“You shouldn’t have a baby just because you hate us,” Ian says to Debbie, “That’s not fair to anyone, especially that baby.”

“Will you still love me if I have the baby?” Debbie whispers.

“‘Course I will, Debs,” Ian whispers back, “I will always love you. Even when you act like a freaking psychopath.”

Debbie laughs wetly, her hands coming up to wipe at her cheeks. Ian didn’t even notice she was crying. “You too,” she says, resting her forehead on Ian’s shoulder.

They lay there for a long time together. Well, it feels like a long time, but Ian doesn’t even know what day it is, let alone the time. It could have been two minutes, or two hours, it wouldn’t make a difference. But he does admit to himself that it feels nice to have someone laying next to him, to feel the pressure and the presence of another body. It keeps his mind in the present rather than somewhere else. It helps him from letting Not-Mickey come to the forefront.

“Hey Ian,” Debbie says, “Do you remember when I was really little? And I would come and sneak into your bed at night?”

Ian manages to crack a small smile, “Yeah Debs, I do.”

* * *

The next day when Fiona comes to Ian’s room with a glass of orange juice and a piece of toast, she sits down on the bed next to him, and takes his hand.

“I don’t know what the fuck you said to Debbie yesterday, but it worked,” she whispers, “We’re going to the clinic today. So thank you, for getting through to her.”

After Fiona gets up and Ian hears the front door close, he reaches over, and eats the toast.

* * *

For the first two years Ian and Mickey were hooking up, Ian didn’t even think Mickey liked him on a personal level, let alone a romantic level. Ian was so used to being the other man, the secret, the warm mouth and nothing else. It made intimacy, especially from Mickey, difficult to adjust to. Ian wasn’t used to Mickey openly accepting Ian’s touch, or Ian initiating a kiss.

It was difficult to adjust to, but it didn’t take Ian very long. He graciously accepted anything Mickey gave him, whether it was quietly asking Ian, _want more?_ and pouring him a cup of coffee in the Gallagher kitchen, or if it was Mickey taking Ian’s hand in his when they would have sex at night before bed.

Once Mickey knew he was safe with someone, he was a very intimate person. Maybe not in public, Ian and Mickey weren’t walking down the streets holding hands or anything. But there was never a day where Ian didn’t wake up with Mickey in his arms, or a night where Mickey wouldn’t curl a hand into Ian’s hair. Mickey had always kissed Ian before he went to work, and greeted him with another when he got home.

The Mickey Ian chooses to remember when he’s lying in his bed is nothing like the Not-Mickey that keeps visiting him. That Mickey is Not-Mickey, and he spits the cruelest things that Ian would never think Mickey would think or feel.

But Ian doesn’t know what Mickey feels anymore, because Mickey is gone now. And it’s all Ian’s fault. Ian and his stupid fucking brain that tells him that he needed to let Mickey free, that tells him every decision he is making is a good one, only to turn around and create a phantom Mickey who whispers foul thoughts and words into Ian’s ear. Things that Ian already knows and believes.

Ian’s lying on his side, his hand stretched out to the wall, fingertips running along the sheets. There are moments where if he thinks back hard enough he can conjure up the feeling of Mickey laying next to him here. He misses lying next to Mickey, he misses the Milkovich house, and Svetlana and Yevgeny. He misses Mandy. Fuck, even a part of him misses Iggy.

“Your sister ask me to come over and check on you,” says a voice from behind him. Ian feels his heart stop. Svetlana. When Ian can’t see from where he’s laying if Yev is with her or not. Part of him wanted to roll over and see the other part of him doesn’t think he could bear to see parts of Mickey in Yevgeny.

“Piece of shit husband is gone,” Svetlana continues, “He ask if I give him blessing to leave, and I give it to him. Why? Because you fuck with him. You and your illness keep messing with my life. First, you steal my baby. Then, you fuck with my husband. Now he as run away. Did not believe for one moment that he left to help brother, he left to get away from you.”

Her words feed right into Ian, his eyes leaking into the pillow. He knows this, he knows all of this, but he doesn’t stop Svetlana. He deserves this, and he knows it.

“He might not be husband in my bed, or husband through love, but he is still my husband. He _is_ father of Yevgeny. If my baby grows up with no father, it is your fault.”

It’s silent after that. Ian manages to roll over, intending to face Svetlana. But she’s gone. He rolls onto his back, and just cries. 

“You know, she’s probably right,” says Not-Mickey from somewhere in the room. Ian opens his eyes and sees him leaning against the bunk beds, “You don’t know if I’m ever coming back. Hell, I probably won’t. Why would I?”

“Stop it,” Ian groans from where he’s laying.

“I wouldn’t come back to you even if someone paid me,” Not-Mickey smiles, “I’m finally fucking free from you.”

 _“Shut the fuck up!”_ Ian screams, grabbing the first thing he sees beside him, a lamp, and throws it at Not-Mickey where it shatters, hitting the side of the bunk. Not-Mickey’s gone, and Ian is alone. He turns his head and stares at the blank space where Mickey used to be.

* * *

It’s dark outside the next time Ian opens his eyes. He manages to sit up in the bed, feeling the cool air on his skin, goosebumps raising. He looks at the bedside table and sees what must have been dinner. Next to the plate, he sees his phone, and Ian reaches over to pick it up, surprised when it actually turns on. He doesn’t remember the last time he even charged it.

Ian doesn’t have any missed calls or texts, not that he thought he would. But he goes into his answering machine anyway, surprised when it tells him he has an unread voicemail. Ian racks his brain trying to remember the last time he even checked his voicemail before this point. It was probably months ago.

He goes through the menu, pressing the phone to his ear.

 _“Alright shithead this is like the 200th time I’m calling you and you not picking up, I’m starting to get fucking homicidal,”_ Mickey’s voice comes through the phone, and Ian’s throat closes up immediately, his eyes burning. Quickly Ian tries to decipher when the fuck this happened, but the only time he can think of is when he took off with Yevgeny. Maybe when he was with Monica. _“Call me the fuck back Ian... I’m worried about you. I love you. Call me back.”_

Ian chokes out a sob, immediately covering his mouth, worrying about waking people up.

This has to be it, this has to be the moment where the earth will just swallow Ian whole. Ian has never wanted to just simply blip out of existence as much as he does right now. He holds his phone in the palm of his hand and just stares at it. Until finally he hits his name. The phone rings, and rings, and rings, until finally, the answering machine picks up. Ian thinks about just hanging up, but knows he’ll just call again if he doesn’t say this now.

 _Leave a message. Or don’t. I don’t fucking care._ Beep.

“Mickey,” Ian’s voice croaks, “ _Mick._ I know I shouldn’t call but I just - I had to. I’m _sorry_ ,” Ian lets out a sob, his hand coming to cover his mouth, and then run through his hair, “I _love_ you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, I don’t know why I didn’t. But I _love_ you, okay? I love _you_. Please come back, _please_ come back.”

Ian hangs up. For the first time, he lets his thoughts go back to when Mickey left. When Ian had promised him he would get better. At the time, Ian had no intention of going back and getting his meds again. Now, Ian hasn’t even thought about being medicated for ... well, for however long Ian’s been in this bed.

Suddenly, and maybe for the first time, this all becomes so scary to him. Ian realizes he has no clue how long has passed since Mickey walked away from him. It could have only been a few days, or it could have been ... months? 

“You’ve always been dramatic, Ian,” Not-Mickey whispers from across the room. Ian smiles to himself at that, huffing out a small laugh.

“Are you coming back?” Ian asks the Not-Mickey.

“What do you think?” Not-Mickey returns.

“I don’t think you are,” Ian replies, but the Not-Mickey doesn’t say anything back so Ian continues, “I think you lied about the run with Iggy, and I think you are going somewhere far away and never coming back. And it’s my fault.”

“You think pretty fucking highly of yourself,” Not-Mickey scoffs. Suddenly, Not-Mickey becomes unusually soft, though. “What did I ask you, Ian?”

Ian shakes his head, tears swimming in his eyes, he looks down to blink them out, “To get better,” he says.

“Have I ever asked anything of you before?”

Ian shakes his head again, but this time as an answer. Mickey never asked Ian for anything ever. Only this. And Ian... well, Ian asked a lot of Mickey. Maybe too much, sometimes. When Ian looks back up, the Not-Mickey is gone.

Ian can’t get better for himself. But he thinks, maybe he could get for Mickey. And, just maybe, if Mickey comes back in a few weeks, months, or even years, the very least Ian could be doing was showing Mickey that he stayed true to the only promise Ian ever made to him.

* * *

“Fiona?” Ian whispers.

“Yeah?” Fiona says softly. Motherly. Sister-like. Fiona.

“Will you come to the clinic with me?”

He hears her sharp intake of breath, the emotion in her voice when she says, “Fuck, yeah. Right now?”

Ian can only nod, his throat feeling too tight to speak.

Fiona is nodding at him, rubbing his shoulder, “Okay, yeah, let’s go. I’ll get some clothes out for you, yeah? All you have to do is jump through the shower real quick, and put on the clothes, and come downstairs.” to Ian that sounds like _so much_ , but Fiona’s up and moving, going through the closet and pulling something out for him.

“Just a shower, Ian, okay? I’ll see you downstairs,” Fiona squeezes his arm. Ian nods again, and Fiona leaves the room. Ian lays there for a while. He thinks it must be longer than five minutes before he manages to sit up, and puts his feet on the ground for the first time in days. No one comes to rush him, though. Slowly, so slowly, he gets to the bathroom, gets in the shower, doesn’t even notice if it’s hot or cold. Once he’s out, he rubs some toothpaste around in his mouth and goes to pull on the clothes Fiona had laid out.

Fiona is sitting on the couch when he gets downstairs, his coat in her hands, and helps him get it on. She walks next to him on their walk to the clinic, with her arm linked through his, steadying him. Ian is glad Fiona is here beside him. 


	4. january

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey never returned Ian’s call.

Once Ian’s meds are balanced out he slowly begins to come back to himself. Well, as much as himself as he still feels like he is. Slowly, but surely, Ian begins to process everything that’s happened in the last year. It feels a bit like a fever dream, and he starts to feel it all, and he starts to get angry.

Ian is so fucking angry.

He’s angry that he ruined his chances of going to West Point, he’s angry that he dropped out of school. He’s angry that he’s working as a fucking busboy at Fiona’s diner with her stupid boyfriend Sean. He’s angry that Lip gets to walk around with everyone’s proud fucking eyes on him, congratulating him for being so fucking successful.

He’s angry that Debbie seems to have lost her fucking mind. What the hell was she thinking? Purposefully getting pregnant at the age of fifteen? He’s fucking angry that Carl is in juvie, angry that he started dealing, angry that Sammi is the reason his little brother is in prison.

Mostly, though, Ian’s so fucking angry at himself.

Angry that he seems to have missed out on so fucking much, angry that his brain and his body had completely checked out on his family. Angry that they all are treating him like he’s fucking glass like he’ll explode. For the first weeks after Ian levelled out, it felt like he was living with total strangers, and not the people he had known all his life.

The meds are working, Ian isn’t in bed, and he isn’t bouncing off the walls. He’s working at Patsy’s again, though he fucking hates it. He can’t help but feel it’s not where he wanted to be when he was seventeen.

He was supposed to be preparing to go to West Point, or at least just fucking enlisting in the army. But that was literally shot to shit. Now, Ian was a seventeen (almost eighteen) year old high school dropout with a history of mental illness working as a busboy and dishwasher at a shitty diner.

Okay, maybe Patsy’s isn’t so bad. But the fact remains that he’s constantly being fucking babysat by his sister at home and at work and he’s sick of it. And, jesus christ, he’s _so fucking angry._

Ian’s fighting with Fiona more than he has ever fought with her before, and he can tell it’s taking a toll on both of them. Ian has been doing all the doctors' appointments and everything by himself. A few weeks ago he had asked Fiona to go with him to get his meds because she was the only one he trusted to go with her. Now he’s refusing to let her go to the clinic with him when he has a check-in every week or so.

Christmas passed by in a blur. Ian had only been on his medication for a few weeks, and the Gallaghers, of course, had to throw a huge party - both for Christmas and to celebrate Ian. He didn’t want a party, but of course, they threw him one. He was still feeling horrible, spacey and not entirely up to doing much of anything. 

In truth, he can barely remember it. He remembers that it was loud, louder than he could handle at that time. There was pizza, cake, and not a lot of alcohol because it’s not like he can drink with any of his medication anyway.

The whole evening was honestly really fucking depressing. It wasn’t very long until Ian tapped out, using the excuse that his medications had made him exhausted and went to bed. That was only slightly true at the time, but Ian has been exhausted for weeks. Medicated or not.

* * *

“You take your meds, Ian?” 

“Jesus, Fiona,” Ian sighs, walking into the kitchen, “Yes, I took them.”

“Okay, okay, just making sure.”

 _You’re always fucking making sure_ , Ian thinks to himself as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

It’s a typical morning at the Gallagher house - Debbie is running around getting her school things together for her last few days. Since her abortion Debbie has thrown herself back into her school work, even trying to get ahead and graduate early. Ian thinks it’s mostly as a distraction from her awkward break-up, and trying to convince herself that she made the right decision. (Ian thinks she did, anyway.)

Lip comes and goes, doing school work, or with his professor-girlfriend, Ian isn’t really sure. Lip is a bit of a mystery to him right now.

Liam is up with Fiona, getting ready to go to a daycare program they were able to find for him for the year.

It’s still so weird for Carl to not be around. They check in on him as much as they can, try to arrange visitations at least once a month but it’s so hard for all of them to get up there. Ian’s talked to Carl a few times since he went in, but the conversations have been very short and one-sided. Carl hasn’t been much for talking over the phone, and Ian can’t tell if it’s because of Carl’s situation in juvie, or if Carl is mad at Ian for being bipolar.

Fiona is running around like a chicken with her head cut off, as per usual. She’s still married, or separated. All Ian knows is she's sleeping with or dating Sean, who is not her husband. Sean’s okay, Ian thinks he would like him better if he wasn’t his asshole-boss.

“Your sister is just checking in on you. You should show her some respect,” Sean says, sitting at the table eating cereal.

Ian can’t hold back the death glare he gives Sean from the opposite side of the counter.

Unfortunately, Frank had turned back up. Moaning and groaning and constantly crying about some girl he claims to have been in love with who died from cancer. He’s walking around talking about how he _loves_ everyone, how he knows what it feels like to _lose_ someone. Mostly, Ian wants to shove a fork into Frank’s neck. He doesn’t know shit about what it feels like to lose someone you love.

* * *

Mickey never returned Ian’s call.

Ian takes it as a message. And he hears it loud and clear. _Leave me the fuck alone_ , and Ian fully intends to. Once Ian had levelled out slightly and realized that Mickey had never bothered to return the call, he was _angry._ Angry at himself, angry at Mickey, angry at himself again for being angry at Mickey. _Whatever._

He began to go around his room putting everything that reminded him of Mickey into a fucking box. It wasn’t much, it’s not like the two of them exchanged fucking anniversary presents. The majority of their shared shit was likely still somewhere in the Milkovich house. But there were still some things - a shitty zip up that the two of them had been passing back and forth for years, Ian’s dog tags, a few DVDs of shitty actions movies they had watched together, the rest of Ian’s ROTC crap ends up in the box, too, because Ian doesn’t want to fucking look at it anymore.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Lip said from the couch as Ian came tearing through the living room searching through it for anything that reminded him of Mickey.

“It’s nothing,” Ian grunts, turning around pillows.

“What are you doing?” Lip asks, following Ian through into the kitchen.

“Nothing!” Ian says again, opening the kitchen drawers, somehow finding an old ROTC “Gallagher” badge and throwing it in the box, and heading towards the steps.

“Ian...” Lip says gently, grabbing at Ian’s shoulder, trying to force him to turn around.

“It’s nothing, Lip,” Ian insists, “I’m fine.”

Ian heads up the stairs, going back into his room. He finds a marker from a pile of Liam’s stuff and scribbles DO NOT FUCKING OPEN on the box, and goes to shove it in the attic. Ian can see Lip watching him carefully from around the corner of the stairs but just ignores it.

Part of him gets it, he was quiet up until twenty minutes ago, before he started stomping around the house like a maniac. Anything Ian does that might seem even a little bit strange means that all of his siblings are watching him like fucking hawks. Then it becomes a hushed conversation piece that Fiona and Lip have at night where they think Ian can’t hear but he totally fucking can.

If he’s really lucky, it becomes a topic of discussion at the dinner table.

It doesn’t matter. Ian can deal with his siblings looking at him like he’s a freak for the rest of his life, and he can deal with Mickey disappearing, and he can deal with this stupid disease, and he can do it all on his own. He doesn’t need anyone.

If Mickey wants to disappear, that’s fucking fine with him. Ian broke up with him anyway, right? It’s what he wanted, right? Right?

Mickey can leave and do what he wants, and Ian will do what he wants. He will gather their shared history and he will shove it in a box, where it will collect dust, and he will never touch it again.

* * *

Ian’s been walking again. Late at night he’ll hop on the L and take it downtown and just wander, or if he has a day off from the diner or the afternoon he will just wander around town.

He likes the fresh air, and since he’s not so much in shape anymore, it’s the closest thing to working out he has enough energy to do most days.

Ian’s walking beside a run-down park in the nearby neighbourhood when he stops suddenly in his tracks.

Svetlana. She’s sitting on a bench having a smoke. Jesus, Ian hasn’t seen her since ... well. since she was in his bedroom. And sitting in front of her is Yevgeny, chubby and pink, wrapped up in layers of scarves and a little snowsuit, chewing on some sort of baby toy. Fuck, Ian doesn’t remember the last time he saw Yev and it makes tears form in his eyes for a moment and a chill run through his body.

Ian thinks he might be able to just speed-walk away from the two of them, but Svetlana catches his eye, and Ian’s suddenly trapped.

“Hi,” he says.

Svetlana says nothing, takes a long drag from her cigarette and blows it out slowly.

“Okay,” Ian mumbles and takes a step away.

“Wait,” Svetlana says, making Ian stop, “How are you?”

The question seems foreign to Ian’s ears, but he automatically still says, “Fine.”

Svetlana nods, taking another drag, “Truth?”

“Better than the last time you saw me,” Ian says, “That’s for sure.”

“Good,” Svetlana nods, “I am sorry for yelling at you then.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Svetlana says, impatiently, sounding a bit more like the Svetlana he knows. “Kevin and V explain to me your ... disease. I understand more now.”

Ian just nods, eyeing his shoes. He doesn’t want to talk about being bipolar in general, and he thinks the last person he wants to talk about it with is Svetlana.

“I still hate you for stealing baby, though,” she says quickly.

Ian laughs at that, nodding. Fair enough, he still hates himself, too.

“Have you, uh, have you heard from him?” Ian asks. Knowing that he and Svetlana know exactly who he’s referring to.

“None of your fucking business,” Svetlana curtly replies. Ian nods, eyes falling to Yevgeny playing on the ground. He’s sitting up on his own and everything, and it sends a thrill through Ian to watch him do new things. 

“How long has Yevgeny been doing that?”

“A few weeks now,” Svetlana supplies.

“How is he?”

“Fine.”

Ian studies Svetlana, “I was asking about Yevgeny.”

“Good,” she says, “I was talking about Yevgeny.”

They stand in silence for a few moments, Svetlana smoking calmly. She stubs the cigarette out on the bench.

“He misses you,” she says. Ian’s throat seizes up.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Yevgeny,” Svetlana says.

Ian doesn’t know if he’s more sad or relieved to hear that.

Ian nods, “I would love to see him more,” he admits, “If that’s okay with you.”

“Are you on drugs?” Svetlana asks.

“Medication? Yeah.”

Svetlana nods, “Then, yes, you may see baby.”

Ian can’t help the small smile that forms on his mouth, “Okay. You still at Kev and V’s?”

Svetlana nods again.

“I’ll drop by sometime, yeah? And if you ever need anything ... help, or something, you can ask me. Okay?”

Svetlana stands up, “Yes,” she says, reaching down and picking up Yevgeny. “We go home now. Goodbye, Orange Boy.”

* * *

The weird half-assed blessing from Svetlana makes Ian feel calmer, and eventually, he thinks he settles into a type of routine. The clinic he sees every so often tells him they believe he’s stable enough to not have to come in quite so frequently, so Ian is left to his own devices.

He feels okay. Nothing is right in his life right now, but he doesn’t think that’s the fault of bipolar.

Well, actually, it is. The reason his life is a fucking mess right now is literally because of bipolar, but he doesn’t think that the reason he feels like shit most of the time is because he’s depressed, or manic, or whatever. It’s because he fucked up his life _because_ of his bipolar and now he’s left to sweep up the fucking ashes.

One of the worst things about this disease, is the second Ian levelled out, he realized how absolutely fucked up the shit he was doing was. He thinks maybe he should apologize to his family, apologize for refusing medication, for almost hitting Debbie upside the head. But the worst shit he did wasn’t even to his own family, and the people he needs to apologize to aren’t even here.

Ian feels constantly on edge, stewing in the guilt of his own actions but unsure what to do with that. Feeling constantly watched by Fiona, Lip, Debbie, even sometimes Liam.

And he doesn’t know how to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for your kind messages of support for this story!
> 
> This chapter was originally going to be much longer, but I had to do some re-working of the timeline (including what time of year the story takes place in.) The Shameless timeline is absolutely messed up, so I had to do some reworking to make future parts of the story take place. I still hope you enjoy, and if there are any inconsistencies in the time period (i.e. a mention of it being summertime, when it's actually winter-time) let me know. This story is non-beta'd, so it's just lil ol' me editing this thing.
> 
> Next up: Ian turns eighteen, and there is a climax of sorts. I hope to get it ready for you soon.


	5. february

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian was supposed to be something more than this, he was supposed to be a lot of things. He was supposed to get out of this shithole he calls home, he was supposed to be an officer, he was supposed to be in West Point. He was supposed to be a fucking hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are starting to pick up where my original idea of the fic began, and I promise you: Mickey is coming back very soon. This is where I start to work in some ideas that Season 6 had that I really enjoyed/thought was very interesting. Some Season 6 dialogue or ideas are used or reworked differently to fit the story.
> 
> TW: suicidal thoughts & tendencies. no actual death by suicide. but some discussion of an “attempt.” spoiler specifics down in the bottom notes if you want them. also, like, ableist language, but that’s pretty self-explanatory in shameless.

Ian’s going to be eighteen soon. Which seems crazy to him, he doesn’t feel like he’s even close to being eighteen, but at the same time feels like years have passed since his seventeenth birthday. Fiona’s insistent they throw him a party, and Debbie’s going a bit nuts with it.

“It’s a Gallagher milestone!” Debbie cries as she’s sitting at the table doing some school work. Ian’s just got off his shift at Patsy’s, and he’s fucking exhausted. “We can do pizza, and cake, ice cream - a pinata! Birthdays always need a pinata.”

“I don’t want a party,” Ian says.

“C’mon, Ian,” Fiona replies from the kitchen, “It’s your birthday, we always throw parties for our birthdays.”

“I don’t want one,” Ian states, again.

“Even if it’s just us? Kev and V?” Fiona is insisting, and part of Ian gets it. They want everything to be normal and throwing Ian a birthday party will be the closest thing of back to normal the Gallaghers can achieve right now.

So Ian comes up with the best excuse he can think of to shut Fiona up, “I don’t want a party if Carl isn’t here,” he says. And, hey, it’s true. The house feels fucking incomplete without Carl stomping around.

Fiona sighs, nods, and goes back into the living room. And Ian thinks that will be the end of the conversation. But of course, because it’s the fucking Gallaghers, it’s not.

Ian wakes up on his eighteenth birthday, does his typical shift at Patsy’s - long, boring, with the occasional happy birthday wish from the other workers, and returns home in the late afternoon. He’s so tired, and he’s ready to go and lay down for the rest of the day.

When he walks in the house, though, there’s an eruption of loud noise, his family hopping out from around corners, screams of _“Surprise!”_ at him which makes Ian almost jump out of his skin. The first thing he thinks is: of course. Of course, he asks for nothing big and special for his birthday, and of _course,_ his family throws him something anyway.

Everyone’s here, Kev and V, Lip, Debbie, Liam, Fiona. Fucking _Sean_ , even Frank over in the corner mourning. Ian looks around for a moment, hoping that Svetlana and Yev would have been invited as well, but he doesn’t see them. Svetlana must be next door with Yev and the twins, and Ian is tempted to walk out and just join them instead. 

“Happy birthday,” Lip says, handing Ian a beer before Ian can even refuse it. Ian hasn’t had a drink in _months._ He’s been keeping good, not drinking while he’s on his meds.

“Thanks,” Ian mumbles, everyone else coming up to him, Kev to slap a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Happy birthday, dude,” V comes and gives him a big hug, holding his face in her hands for a moment and smiling at him. Debbie gives him the biggest hug and a smile, and Liam smiles up at him from his feet, yelling, “Happy Birthday, Ian!” Ian accepts it, feeling his blood boiling, and goes to sit on the couch.

“Here,” Fiona handing Ian her phone, “This is the best I could get for a present,” she says.

Ian takes the phone confusedly, putting it up to his ear, “Hello?”

“Sup?” comes Carl’s voice from the other end, and Ian feels himself cool down a bit, an actual smile forming on his mouth. 

“Hey, buddy,” Ian replies, “How are ya?”

“Oh you know,” Carl supplies easily, “Holdin’ down this fort with my bros, same old, same old. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Yeah,” Ian chuckles, “Thanks.” Carl keeps the conversation light, and Ian chats with him for a few more minutes, before he has to go, “Can’t be hoggin’ the line,” Carl explains. Ian gets it, he thinks. He hands Fiona back her phone.

“Thanks,” he says, and he does mean it.

Fiona smiles, “Of course. Thinkin’ we can all go up next week and visit him.”

Ian nods, and Fiona reaches up and squeezes his shoulder, “But for now, we’re gonna have a fun time, and we’re gonna have a party!”

The music blasts, it hurts Ian’s ears, but he manages a weak smile at Fiona, who _“whoops!”_ and goes off to the kitchen, probably to get herself a drink. Ian looks down, his hand still holding the beer Lip had given him. He thinks, _fuck it_ and takes a swig. It’s cool and refreshing going down, and so Ian gives into it. 

He lets the cool liquid of the beer help calm him down because he finds it difficult to act like he wants this party. He lets himself for a second see the amount of effort his family must have put into surprising him. There’s streamers and balloons everywhere, a banner that reads _HAPPY 18TH BIRTHDAY IAN_ , probably written by Debbie.

He lets Fiona grab his arm and dance with him a little, he lets himself try and have fun, relax. He knows the beer will go straight to his head, he knows he will probably feel like crap tomorrow, and not even because of a hangover, because of the meds, but he doesn’t care.

He lets himself forget for a second that he didn’t even want this party in the first place. He just dances, and they bring out the cake, and Ian blows out the candles. And he just lets himself be eight-fucking-teen for an hour or two.

* * *

The last time Ian drank was at the dugouts, and that didn’t end so well. Because of his low tolerance, mixed with his medications, the beer goes straight to his head. Maybe drunk isn’t the right word for what he is right now, but he feels light and airy.

He gave up on dancing with Fiona a while back (made him too dizzy) and is sitting in the corner of the living room, the last swallow of the single beer Lip gave him sitting warm in his hand.

“Want another?” Lip asks, coming to stand next to Ian, two in his hands.

Ian shakes his head, the motion making him feel a little sick, “No,” he says.

Lip nods, going to put the other beer back in the fridge. When he gets back and stands next to Ian again, Ian looks up at him from where he’s sitting. It’s only been an hour two since the party officially started. At least Ian thinks it’s only been a little while. It’s probably been way too short of a time for him to be this wasted off a single beer, but fuck it. Whatever.

Ian attempts to stand from where he’s sitting, and stumbles slightly, Lip moving into his space to catch him.

“Woah, you okay, man?”

Ian smirks slightly, a full smile not reaching his mouth, “I’m seeing triple, Lip, I think I need to crash.”

“Already?” Lip chuckles, “You’ve barely had one beer.”

“I’m really not supposed to have any,” Ian reminds him.

Lip shrugs, “I figured you needed a bit of a break from all this shit,” Lip says, patting Ian’s shoulder, “Listen, I know you didn’t really want this party.”

Rage comes back to Ian full force, “You’re right, I didn’t want it,” Ian says, moving away from Lip.

“I know,” Lip holds his hands up in front of himself, “Fiona and I were talking-” of-fucking-course they were, “-and we just thought you deserved some time to relax.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s happened,” Ian starts to move towards the stairs, “Nice and relaxed, Lip, thanks. Gonna head up to bed now.”

Lip stares at him, “Why are you so pissed?”

The question is soon forgotten, though, because Fiona sees Ian trying to head up from across the room, “Oh no you don’t Ian, come on,” she walks over, tries to grab Ian’s arm, who pulls away roughly.

“No,” Ian says, “Fiona I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Just stay awake with us for a little while longer,” Fiona pleads.

“ _No_ ,” Ian’s starting to feel frustrated, the world feels blurry, and he _really_ shouldn’t have had that beer.

“Ian. You deserve this,” Lip says, gesturing to the “party” around them, where things have started to quiet down.

Ian laughs bitterly, “No I don’t,” he whispers.

“What?” Lip says, genuinely not hearing what Ian said.

“No I don’t,” Ian says loudly, he can see everyone stop talking from the room and turn to stare at him, “I don’t fucking deserve this.”

“Ian,” Fiona says gently, “Yes you do. You’ve been doing so well.”

“Seriously?” Ian says, “I’ve been doing well? Fiona, I’ve been doing absolutely fucking nothing for _months_.”

Fiona shakes her head, “No, you’ve been going to work, you’ve been taking your meds - that’s good, Ian, that’s progress. That’s way better than-”

“Than what? Acting crazy? Working at the club?” Ian asks.

“Well,” Fiona laughs disbelievingly, “Yeah.”

Ian rolls his eyes, even if he agrees with her, “I told you I didn’t want this party.”

“Why?” Fiona urges Ian desperately.

“There’s _nothing_ to celebrate here, Fiona. I’m just your crazy medicated brother. This isn’t a fucking party, it’s my family, my two neighbours, and my dad - who may I remind everyone here _isn’t even my fucking dad_. I have no friends, no one to invite to this thing because _literally everyone has left me_ ,” Ian can’t stop talking, can’t stop thinking of everyone who left this town because of him, “And-and I’m not stupid, you all sit around and watch me. Like you expect me to do something crazy, and I’m sick of it, I’m sick of being constantly watched by everyone.”

“Ian...” Fiona begins.

“I hate my job,” Ian interrupts her, eyes flickering to Sean whose glaring at him from behind Fiona’s shoulder, “I take the meds because that’s literally my only fucking option - not because I _want_ to. That’s it. That’s all I do. I drug myself, I work, I come home. Wash, rinse, repeat. I’m not doing _well_. I’m not doing _anything._ There’s _fuck all_ to celebrate here.”

“Then fucking _do_ something about it!” Lip cries. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, if you wanted anything else you could go and get it. 

“Like what?!” Ian yells back.

“Anything!” Lip returns.

“You could go back to school, get your diploma,” Fiona suggests. Ian couldn’t do that, picturing himself back in high school makes him feel sick.

“There’s no point,” Ian replies.

“What’s this really about?” Fiona asks, trying to keep everything calm, trying to move closer towards Ian standing on the landing of the steps, but Ian just moves away from her.

“You fucking know what it’s about, Fiona,” Lip mutters.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ian asks.

Lip nods, an _alright you asked for this_ kind of motion, “You lay around feeling sorry for yourself. And, hey, I get it, a lot of shit has happened to you in the last couple of months, and we can’t relate to it. _Fine._ But all this bullshit you’re going through, you’re also taking it out on us. It’s not our fault you’re bipolar, it’s not our fault you have no fucking clue what you’re doing with your life, and it’s sure as fuck not our fault that Mickey fucked off on you.”

That stops Ian dead, his heart pounding at the sound of Mickey’s name. There’s been an unspoken agreement among everyone that no one is to fucking mention Mickey in front of him, but apparently that’s all gone to shit now.

“Fuck you,” Ian says to Lip, doing all he can to keep his voice from shaking.

“Fuck _you_ , Ian,” Lip says, “You can’t blame us for this anymore. You want to think that being bipolar means you’re doomed to be a piece of shit like Monica? Fine. And hey, you know what? Maybe that’s true.”

Ian laughs a bit hysterically, “Yeah, that’s right. All I am is your gay, bipolar, brother-cousin, who gives a shit, right? Who the fuck would even want me around, huh? Mickey clearly didn’t, and apparently neither do you.”

He watches Fiona’s eyes fill with tears, “Ian, that’s not true.”

Ian looks back at Lip, expecting him to say something. _You’re not a piece of shit, Ian._ He wants his brother, the only guy Ian’s ever had to look up to, often his only friend, to say _anything_. But he doesn’t.

Ian needs to get the fuck out of this house. He needs to fucking breathe, and he can’t. He takes a step towards the door, at least grabbing his jacket from where he threw it when he came home.

“Ian, don’t fucking walk out,” Fiona yells after him.

“Yeah? What the fuck are you gonna do about it?” Ian returns, and the door slams behind him.

* * *

Ian walked for hours until it got dark and his feet were aching. Attempting to clear his head from the drink he had, feeling less dizzy the more he walked, Ian ended up on a bridge. He knew it was cold outside, but he felt numb to it, numb to everything.

His head is swimming. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want any of this. 

Ian was supposed to be something more than this, he was supposed to be a lot of things. He was supposed to get out of this shithole he calls home, he was supposed to be an officer, he was supposed to be in West Point. He was supposed to be a fucking hero.

He was supposed to be with Mickey.

But he’s not any of those things because of a fucking disease in his mind. _Incurable._ Medication for life because out of his fucking siblings, he was the one who drew the short end of the stick. 

This disease used to scare the shit out of him when he was little. He remembers every episode Monica had. The attempted suicides, the delusions, depressed for weeks, lying in bed, broken promises. So many broken promises.

The scariest for Ian was probably the day she thought she could fly and was on the roof of the house. It’s one thing to think your mother is never coming home, and that you’ll never see her again. It’s a whole other thing to think you’re going to have to watch your mother jump off your roof and fall to her death.

Ian wonders, for a brief moment, what Monica felt like then. But he thinks he knows: invincible. So sure that you could do it. Science be fucking damned, Ian knows that Monica believed in every bone in her body that when her feet left the ground, she would soar.

Ian felt like that. Like he was flying like he was invincible. Now, Ian feels nothing. Ian _has_ nothing.

It seems easy, for Ian to climb up on the side of the bridge, steadying himself. He closes his eyes. He can feel the wind in his hair, the bite of the winter air on his skin. He can smell the water below him, not completely frozen. He wonders if this is what it feels like to be able to fly, and completely forget everything. It’s the closest thing to invincibility. Ian holds his arms out to the side, so he can feel the wind touch every part of him, and he feels free.

He feels his toes nudging off the edge of the bridge, and he feels alive.

But he gets down anyway. Standing back on the sidewalk, he leans against the wall of the bridge, pressing his hand to his chest to feel his heart beating fast. He feels like his body is moving so slowly, time passes by like molasses. As he looks up, he sees two cars crash into one another, glass shattering everywhere, making Ian stumble back slightly.

Suddenly, time speeds up.

A guy stumbles out of one of the cars and begins sprinting away, and Ian is left speechless where he’s standing. He thinks maybe he should pull out his phone? Call 911? Then remembers he doesn't even have it on him. And then the other car, still in the middle of the road, literally catches on fire.

“Holy shit,” Ian breathes, running up to the car, seeing a woman lying in the front seat. Smoke is billowing out, choking Ian, but he’s convinced that he can get her out. He can’t just fucking walk away from this.

“Hey, lady, wake up!” Ian chokes through the smoke, reaching through the shattered car window, certain he’s cutting himself but he can barely feel it. He thinks he gets her out, he thinks he gets away from the car that’s threatening explosion, he thinks he’s safe now. But it all turns to dark.

* * *

Ian wakes to bright lights, and thinks for a moment he’s back in the psych ward.

The next thing he notices is Fiona’s sad eyes looking down at him, “Hey,” she said gently.

“Where am I?” Ian asks.

“The hospital,” Lip says, walks over from the corner he’s standing in the corner. Ian’s actually surprised he’s here based on how their last conversation went, “You’re a fucking hero, man.”

Ian remembers now, the heat of the car, dragging that woman out of it. He remembers a flurry of men - really good looking men - all around him. He thought that part was just a dream, but now that he thinks about it, it makes more sense that they were first responders or something.

“I’m a hero?” 

“Apparently,” Fiona laughs, “You pulled a woman out of a literal burning car, Ian. You passed out so they brought you here and were able to call us. We’re so glad you’re okay, we were so worried when you left last night. You didn’t even bring your phone, asshole.”

“What time is it?” 

“About ten in the morning,” Lip says.

“Yeah, your birthday is over,” Fiona says.

Thank fuck for that.

“When can we leave?”

“We’re waiting for the doctors to come,” Fiona says, “They did some tests before we came, just to make sure you were okay, apparently you inhaled a lot of smoke.”

Ian nods, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. No one says anything - everyone remembering the fight the night before. He’s surprised Lip is even here, even saying anything to Ian. He figures Fiona forced him to.

It’s maybe an hour later of awkward hospital-room TV watching that some doctor comes in and tells them that Ian’s cleared - no negative side effects from inhaling any of the fumes and smoke and that someone should be by later on to do one last check.

But then a few hours go by. Lip and Fiona go out for about an hour, bring back some food that they share in mostly silence. It seems to be taking way too long for someone to come and check Ian out, but he tries not to focus on it too much.

Then there’s a gentle knock on the door, and a man walks in. Tall, handsome, white coat, clipboard and everything. Definitely a doctor.

“Good morning,” he says. Pretentious, too. Ian hates him a little already, “My name is Dr. Jameson, I’m here to talk to Ian about the whole incident that took place early this morning.”

Fiona jumps up and goes to shake the doctor’s hand, “Hi, I’m Fiona, Ian’s sister, and this is Lip, Ian’s brother.”

Lip gives the doctor a two-fingered salute and shares a glance with Ian. They both smirk, regardless of the fact they’re both pissed, and Ian knows Lip thinks the guy looks like a North-side douche, too. Lip’s face then falls, as if he’s remembering that he’s mad at Ian, and shifts his gaze away.

“So, the good news is - as you know - that Ian’s perfectly alright, no negative side-effects,” Jameson says, a smile on his mouth.

Fiona nods, smiling, too, “Yes, that’s great. We can head out, then?”

Ian can feel something shift in the air at those words, and he doesn’t like it. Dr. Jameson motions for Fiona to sit down, and she does very slowly.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Jameson says, directing his attention to Ian, “I was going through your file, Ian, and you have a history with bipolar disorder?”

“Yes,” Ian mumbles, “I’m bipolar,” he’s surprised he can say the words without bile spilling out of his mouth.

Jameson nods, “Okay. And you’re on medication, correct?”

“Yes,” Fiona is quick to interrupt, “Ian takes his medication every day when he’s meant to. I always make sure.” Ian winces.

Jameson takes a pen out of his pocket, opening up the clipboard and writing something down.

“I’m sorry I don’t mean to be rude,” Ian says (but he totally does) “But what the fuck is going on?”

“We are just attempting to understand the whole situation here, Ian,” Jameson explains, “That is all.”

“What situation?” Lip asks.

Dr. Jameson pauses for a moment, “Ian, are you comfortable having a conversation about your mental health around your family? I can also see by your file that you’re very recently eighteen. You don’t need a guardian present.”

Ian’s eyebrow quirks up, “Whatever you have to say you can say in front of my family. I’m not hiding anything.”

Jameson nods, “Well I mostly want you to talk,” he says, a smile on his face, “How have you adapted to the diagnosis?” 

Ian shrugs, “Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Ian doesn’t know what this guy wants him to say, “It is what it is.”

“Are you in school, Ian?”

“No,” Ian says tightly, “I dropped out.”

Jameson nods again, scribbling something down on the clipboard.

“Ian has a job, though,” Fiona pipes up, “He works at a diner I help run with my - my partner, and he’s eating pretty good, we all have been.”

“Thank you, Fiona,” Jameson says, “That’s all good information to know, but I would really like to hear it from Ian if that’s okay.”

Fiona looks taken aback, sitting back in the chair by Ian’s bed and crossing her arms over her chest. Probably pissed off that this guy blew her off like that.

“She’s right,” Ian says, “I do all that stuff, and I-I don’t drink or do drugs on the medication either, I’m being good. I haven’t missed a dose in months.”

“That’s all very good, Ian,” Jameson says, “How would you say you’ve been feeling?”

“Fine,” Ian says, probably too quickly, “I’ve been fine.”

“Any feelings of isolation? Loneliness?”

 _Yes_ , Ian wants to say, but instead what comes out is, “Why?”

Jameson scribbles something down, “Well, I may as well be blunt. The police were looking at the tapes of the crash that took place, as it was a hit-and-run, and they saw something concerning that they mentioned to us.”

“Which was?”

“You, Ian, standing on the edge of the bridge.”

Ian feels the air pull still, Lip and Fiona’s heads spinning to stare at him.

“What?” Lip hisses.

“Ian, what the fuck?” Fiona says gently.

Jameson immediately puts a hand up to calm them, and it all clicks in Ian’s head. This guy isn’t just a doctor, he’s a fucking _psychologist_. He’s here to fucking analyze Ian. _Fuck. That._

“It’s not -” Ian starts, “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Ian explains, “I’m not suicidal.”

Jameson nods again, scribbling something on the paper.

“I’m serious,” Ian says, louder, “I’m not fucking suicidal. I’m on medication.”

“Did anything happen last night, Ian? Anything to upset you?”

“No,” Ian says quickly, but Fiona follows it up with, “We had an argument.”

 _“Fiona,”_ Ian says sternly.

“What?! We did, Ian. Well, you and Lip did.”

“Ian?” Jameson isn’t looking at Fiona or Lip.

“Yes, we argued,” Ian explains, “They threw me a party for my birthday that I didn’t fucking want, that annoyed me, and I left to go for a walk.”

“And you ended up on the bridge?”

“Yes,” Ian is so quick to explain, starting to feel paranoid, “But I wasn’t going to do _anything_. Watch that fucking tape the police apparently have. I got off before the cars even crashed. Did the fucking police tell you that?!”

“Ian,” Fiona says gently, placing a hand on Ian’s arm.

But no. Fuck this. Fuck this doctor for trying to twist Ian’s actions. Ian wasn’t going to fucking _jump_. He knows why it would look that way, but that wasn’t what was fucking happening. No way.

“Why were you standing on the bridge, Ian? If not to hurt yourself, why stand up there?” Jameson has a firm and slightly demanding voice. Strangely, though, Ian finds it comforting. This guy isn’t here to fuck around, and in a way, neither is Ian.

“I just...” Ian breathes, slowly says, “I was remembering this one time that Monica - our mom - was ... manic, I guess,” Ian didn’t have that word growing up, she was just being Monica. “She was up on the roof because she thought she could fly, and I-I wondered what that felt like,” as Ian admits this, he hears Fiona take a sharp inhale of breath. Ian looks over to Lip, who is staring intently at the ground, not making eye contact.

“I like being manic,” Ian swallows, hard, looking away from Fiona and Lip. He doesn’t want to see their reactions. “I like how it makes me feel, how _good_ I feel.”

“That’s the appeal of mania, Ian,” Jameson explains, “It’s total euphoria, but that doesn’t mean we should strive towards it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Ian is quick to explain, “I don’t mean that I want to be manic, I just mean - that I just want to...” he feels sick to his stomach admitting to this, but at the same time he knows he needs to, “I just wanted to feel something, that’s all. I wanted to feel _something_.”

“What did you feel, Ian?”

“Scared. Adrenaline, I guess. But even that was better than what I usually feel.”

“Which is?”

“Nothing,” Ian shrugs, he can feel both of siblings eyes on him, but he can’t look up. He just focuses his gaze on his hands.

“Is this the first time you’ve done something dangerous to yourself in an attempt to feel something?”

Ian bites down on his tongue, he’s never told anyone this. “I burned myself on a stove a while back,” he whispers, shoving his thumb into the palm of his now healed hand, “And I punched ... someone because I knew they would hit me back.”

“Were you on medication when these things happened or were you in a manic phase?”

“I was medicated.” Does that matter?

The doctor _hmms_. Ian fucking hates it when they _hmm_. It’s like they know something, some big secret, and instead of just explaining what they are thinking they just _hmm_ like it’s supposed to explain everything.

“It seems like you’ve gone through a lot of changes this past year, Ian,” Jameson says. Ian wants to punch him in his smug face, “I saw on your record that you were only _recently_ diagnosed with bipolar disorder.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve been adapting well?”

Ian just shrugs.

“It can be a big change for some people,” Jameson says.

“Well my mom has it,” Ian says, “So it’s not anything new.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Ian’s boyfriend left him,” Fiona says, and holy shit, if Fiona wasn’t his sister, he would seriously think about killing her right now.

“ _Fiona butt the fuck out._ ” Ian hisses. 

Fiona shakes her head, “No, Ian, this guy wants to know how you are and don’t think we don’t see how upset you’ve been since Mickey left.”

“That’s none of your _fucking_ business,” Ian’s voice is loud and tight. Lip snorts from where he’s sitting, and Ian wants to cross the room and punch him out.

“Stop,” Jameson says, his voice stern, “Fiona and ... Lip, was it?” Lip grunts his confirmation, “This conversation is about Ian and what Ian feels comfortable sharing. If you two can’t sit and hear what Ian wants to share, then I will have to ask you to wait outside.”

The room grows silent, and Ian thinks that he might like this Jameson guy now.

“Ian,” Jameson says, “Would you like to say anything about your boyfriend?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Ian mutters, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” Jameson says gently, “How long were the two of you together?”

That makes Ian actually think. They never had anniversaries, celebrations weren’t exactly their thing, “Like ... three, four years. Since I was fifteen.”

“That’s a long time,” Jameson says, “That would be very difficult to adjust to life without someone who has been in it for that long.”

Ian just shrugs, he’s tired, even though he just slept for hours. He thinks the doctor can see that.

“I believe your medication needs to be adjusted,” Jameson admits, “You shouldn’t feel nothing Ian... I think that is a sign of a larger issue at hand. You’ve had a lot of changes happen to you in the past few months, it’s okay to struggle with them. A new diagnosis, the ending of a long term relationship, contemplation of suicide? These are all serious things, Ian. You should be able to feel like yourself while on your medication.”

Ian can barely hold back the need to roll his eyes at this guy. He needs to be himself, who the fuck is that now?

Dr. Jameson talks Ian through some of the changes he’s recommending (upping his antidepressants, because apparently those aren’t fucking working properly) and claims he’ll come back with a prescription that he strongly encourages Ian to take to his clinic. Then he goes on some bullshit tangent on how Ian needs to stay in the hospital for at least 24 hours just for observation, blah fucking blah. Ian can feel himself begin to shut down at those words.

Again, no one believes him. He wasn’t going to do anything up on that fucking bridge.

The door clicks shut as the doctor leaves, and suddenly the air feels stiflingly quiet. Ian chances a glance over to Fiona and Lip. Fiona is looking at him with her big, watery eyes, and Lip is staring intently at his feet, not making. 

“I didn’t know,” Fiona whispers.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Ian begs his siblings to understand, “You guys gotta believe me. I was upset last night, but I wouldn’t fucking leave you guys like that.”

Fiona shakes her head, “That’s not what I mean,” she says, “I didn’t know that you and Mickey were together for that long.”

Ian can feel himself recoil, “I don’t want to talk about Mickey,” he says. He hasn’t said Mickey’s name out loud in so long the name sounds strange on his lips.

“Okay,” Lip scoffs, “When are you going to, then?”

“Ian,” Fiona says softly, “You should talk about it, maybe it would help-”

“I don’t want to talk about Mickey with _you_.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Lip spits, standing up from where he’s sitting. _Here we go again,_ Ian thinks.

“It means that you guys hate him,” Ian spits back, sitting up in the hospital bed a little, “You have always hated him, and you talk shit about him. He isn’t - Mickey is not the bad guy in this situation,” Ian tries his best to ignore Lip’s mean laugh at that statement, “It would be different he did something wrong, like if he cheated, or he kidnapped Liam or anything like that. But that’s not what it was, that was all me. I did that shit. I’m the one who did this, okay? We broke up because of me, I broke up with him. Nothing was his fault, absolutely nothing. And I don’t want to sit around and talk about him only to hear about how horrible he was, because he _wasn’t._ ”

“Are we talking about the same Mickey here?” Fiona jokes, at least Ian thinks she means it as a joke.

“Ian you were in bed for days because he married someone else,” Lip counters, “He’s hit you, and he treated you like nothing better than fucking dirt on the bottom of his shoe while you were fucking in the backroom of your job.”

Ian shakes his head, bringing his hands up to his eyes and rubbing feeling them begin to burn, “He wasn’t horrible to me,” Ian whispers.

“Whatever Ian,” Lip says, “Do whatever you want. Waste your life mourning after Mickey fucking Milkovich, see if I care. I’m so fucking done.” Lip grabs his bag from where it is on the door and storms out.

Ian thinks Fiona is going to follow after him, but she doesn’t.

Silence washes over the room again, and Ian sinks down into the bed, rolling on his side away from Fiona. He doesn’t want to look at her right now, doesn’t want to look at anything. His chest feels heavy and tight, and he wants to cry but he doesn’t think he can right now.

He feels Fiona’s fingers press gently through the hair on his temple, brushing it back. Ian’s about to tell Fiona to just fuck off, but the gesture is actually nice, and he feels himself relax into it.

“You were my first baby, you know,” Fiona says quietly, “I don’t remember much about Lip as a baby, but I remember you.” Ian doesn’t know what to say to that, “You were so tiny, and you cried _all the time_ ,” she laughs wetly, “I think I raised you okay,” Fiona says, and Ian winces.

“None of this is your fault, Fiona,” he says.

“I didn’t know you were with Mickey for that long,” Fiona says again, “You never said anything.”

Ian swallows, “It wasn’t really ... consistently,” he feels the need to explain, “There was a lot of bullshit and other people in between the years.”

“Still lasted longer than any of Frank and Monica’s stints,” Fiona replies.

That’s true, actually.

“How did you two get together?” 

Ian can’t help but cringe slightly at the wording, it makes it sound like he and Mickey were some sort of great destined romance. And maybe when Ian was fifteen he would have agreed that they were - the Romeo and Juliet of the Southside. But now Ian knows that they weren’t anything magical, or special. They were just two lonely guys who really needed each other. 

But when he catches Fiona's eye he can tell she is genuinely curious. So Ian tells her the whole story. Well, most of it. How he and Mickey, quite literally, stumbled into bed together and just couldn’t give each other up. How it all blew up when Mickey got married, and how it all burned to ash because of Ian.

And Fiona listens, and Ian has to admit, it feels good to finally talk about Mickey.

* * *

Ian gets released from the hospital less than two days later, with a new prescription in his front pocket. Fiona came to pick him up and they drive back in Kev’s truck, the two of them stopping for an ice cream cone like Ian is a five-year-old.

When Ian gets home, Debbie is there to hug him around his middle, Liam around his legs, and Carl on the phone for him to say a quick _hello, glad you didn’t jump, see you soon._ Lip’s nowhere to be seen and Ian tries really, really hard not to take it personally.

Eventually, everything settles down and Debbie’s off to her room to study, Liam’s playing happily around the house, and Fiona is off to work at Patsy's. 

And Ian has two things on his mind. First, he goes to Fiona’s room and digs through her crap, finding her GED workbooks that she had gotten and goes to put them on his bed. And then, he goes back into the hallway of the house and opens up the attic. He crawls up the ladder, finds a box that reads DO NOT FUCKING OPEN, and opens it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW specifics: Ian stands up on the edge of a bridge, he does not specifically mention he wants to die, but there are undertones of intent, and then there is a discussion later on where Ian is adamant he was not trying to commit suicide. Whether or not he was I think is up to you as the reader! But, personally, I think there was some sort of unconscious intent there.
> 
> edit: this fic was written before 10x08 aired which (due to some transcribing by fans) confirmed ian's birthday is in may. so, yeah, my dreams of ian being a winter baby are dead.


	6. february to april

**february, cont.**

Ian’s been home from the hospital for a little over a week. He’s been trying to keep busy - the first few days he went on a huge research binge to find out everything about the crash he could. Ian read every newspaper article, not to mention he had to go into the police station to talk about the crash since he was the only witness.

It was through the newspapers and talking to the policemen on-site that Ian learned the firefighters were the first on the scene. He feels this overwhelming urge to go and thank them.

So on one of his days off from the diner, he bakes cookies (Debbie helps) and he brings them to the fire hall.

From the second he walks in the building, it’s basically gay heaven. Tall, muscled men walking around in tight t-shirts, and large pocketed pants. It’s like a weird wet dream come to life.

Ian’s rounding the corner from the entrance, walking through a bunch of lockers when he sees a pretty good looking, brown-haired guy who looks nice enough. Ian walks up to him.

“Oh my god,” the guy says before Ian can get a word out, “You’re the guy from the Central Ave bridge crash.”

“Uh, yeah,” Ian says, then he realizes how fucking weird it is that he’s here, “I just wanted to... I mean you pretty much saved my life. Cookies” Ian holds up the tupperware.

The guy laughs, “I’m Jason,” he says, shaking Ian’s hand, “I’m glad I could help, but you would have pulled through anyway.”

Ian smiles, letting go of Jason’s hand.

Ian notices a photograph of Jason, another man and two young kids in his locker. He points to it, “That you?” he asks.

Jason nods, “Yeah, my husband Phil and our two kids. They’re five and two,” he does not look old enough to have two kids and a husband, Ian thinks. “Do you want a tour of the place?

“Sure,” Ian says, he really doesn’t have anything better to do.

Jason shows Ian over to the kitchen in the firehall, gets introduced to a few of the guys along the way, Bart the Dalmatian is the only one Ian commits to memory. Jason gives him a brief tour from where they’re standing - the lockers, the common areas, the trucks, and they eventually sit down at a table, Ian placing the cookies down.

The cookies go fairly quickly, and Ian gets into a nice conversation with some of the guys. It’s really nice to be around new people, people who don’t know him, have no expectations of him. Ian doesn’t say much, just listens to Jason and some of the other guys tell him how things around the fire hall work, what their shifts are like. Ian has to admit it sounds really fucking cool. For lack of a better word.

“It’s really great that you dropped by,” Jason says eventually after things have calmed down and other guys have gone their separate ways, “A lot of us guys never really get to know what ends up to the people we help.”

Ian nods, holding his arms out to his sides, “Well, I’m all good. Nice and healthy, cleared by the doc,” he smiles slightly, and Jason laughs.

“Good,” he says, “I don’t mean to bring this up if it’s, uh, too personal... but we heard some pretty scary stuff going around, about how not everyone may have pulled through?”

Ian cringes. Do all doctors, policemen, and firefighters gossip or something?

“I’m bipolar,” Ian feels the need to explain, carefully watching for Jason’s reaction, “And depressed, apparently. I’m on medication, but it’s not enough. That’s probably what you heard about.”

“Well, regardless of that, what you did for that woman was awesome. Not a lot of people would have been able to do that. So be proud of yourself,” Jason says. There’s nothing on his face that tells Ian he’s freaked out by what Ian said.

Ian shrugs, looking down into his lap, “It’s nothing. Wasn’t just going to let her blow up.”

Jason smiles again, and they sit in silence. Jason reaches for the last cookie and eats it, nodding to Ian that it’s pretty good. Ian will have to let Debbie know.

“What are you up to, Ian? Are you in school?”

Ian has to contain a laugh with that, “Um, no. I dropped out a while ago.”

Jason hums, “Would you ever want to go back?”

“Maybe for the right reason, but I probably will just end up with my GED.”

Jason nods, understanding, he gets up quickly and pours himself a cup of coffee, bringing Ian one without even asking.

“What’s this job like?” Ian asks. He heard some stuff from the other guys, but he wants to know what Jason says.

“Well, I’m not gonna lie, it’s tough,” he says, “But super fulfilling. The only thing I wish is that I could be home more often with my family.”

Ian nods, his head is rushing. These men look like rockstars, they literally save people’s lives for a _living._

“Why do you ask? Are you interested?”

Something fills up in Ian’s chest, something both bright and heavy, “I don’t know. What would I need?”

“High school diploma or a GED,” Jason says, arms folded over his chest, a small smile across his mouth, “Then you can go through a college program to get your certificate, start work from there. You would be started as an EMT, though - Emergency Medical Technician. You have to train up to be a firefighter.”

Jason said it like it was so easy like it wasn’t exactly what Ian thought he couldn’t do because of his shitty life, his shitty mind, and his shitty neighbourhood.

But maybe Ian could actually do it. He was already thinking of going to get his GED, the book is sitting underneath his bed for a few days now. He hadn’t said anything to Fiona about it, but it’s there.

“Listen,” Jason says, he gets up and grabs a spare piece of paper and a pencil from a table in the corner, “I’m going to leave my number with you, and if you ever need anything, or have any questions about anything, give me a call.”

“You’re not hitting on me, are you?” Ian asks, unsure what he’d do if that happened.

Jason just laughs, “No, man. Husband and kids, remember?”

Ian nods, “Good.” Jason gives him an odd look at that, but they quickly drop it.

“I think you could be good at this, Ian. Seriously consider it,” Jason says. Ian hands Jason his phone and gets his number.

Ian has a lot to think about on his walk home.

* * *

When Ian gets home Lip is in the living room. They haven’t spoken since Lip stormed out of the hospital room. Ian hasn’t even seen him since then.

“Hey,” Ian says because if he doesn’t say anything he knows Lip will just ignore him.

Lip just grunts in response.

“What are you up to?” Ian asks.

“Laundry,” Lip replies, “Machines were full-on campus.”

Ian sighs, “Are we seriously going to do this?”

“Do what?” Lip feigns innocence, as always.

“Fight. Or just give each other the cold shoulder.”

“I’m not the one who started it,” Lip says.

Ian literally cannot stop himself from rolling his eyes. He knows how this goes, they will just rehash the same argument they had last week, and maybe this time fists will be thrown. It’s the Gallagher way.

Instead, Ian says, “What do you want from me, man? I-I’m really trying here, but I don’t know what you fucking want.”

“I just want my fucking brother back,” Lip says, upset but at least not furious, “I don’t want you laying around doing nothing. You used to get up every morning, and do 500 push-ups before going to school. You were hardcore into ROTC. Now you just lay around doing nothing, unless you’re working at the diner. You’re so much more than a fucking busboy for Fiona and Sean, but I’m the only person willing to tell you that.”

Ian looks Lip straight in the eye, “I don’t even know I am anymore,” he says, somehow managing to keep his voice from shaking, “ROTC and the army was the only plan I ever had. But I am literally barred forever from that. Cut me a bit of slack here, I’m just trying to figure this out.”

Lip doesn’t say anything to that, so Ian scores it as a win for him.

Ian sighs, “I’m starting new medication soon,” Ian says, hands shoved in his pockets, “So there’s probably going to be a whole bunch of new side effects I have to deal with as I adjust. Hopefully, it’s the right balance and I’ll start ... feeling better. Balanced. I can’t promise much, but I can promise you I’m trying.”

“Did you mean what you said at the hospital? When you said you felt nothing?” Lip asks.

“Most days, yeah,” Ian says, “Unless my piece of shit older brother pisses me off.”

Lip laughs, “Fuck off,” after a moment he says, “I’m sorry, man.”

“Me too,” Ian returns.

They stand there in silence for a moment, before Ian says, “C’mon,” and pulls Lip upstairs, bringing him to their bedroom. Ian crouches down and finds the GED workbook underneath the bed, and hands it to Lip.

“Really?” Lip asks.

Ian nods, “Yeah.”

“How long have you had this?”

“Found it in Fiona’s shit when I got home,” Ian replies, “She doesn’t know that I have it.”

Lip nods, “This is awesome, Ian,” he says with a smile.

Ian shrugs, “Thanks.”

They sit together on Ian’s bed, Lip pulls out a cigarette, lights it and takes a drag, passing it to Ian. They look through the GED workbook together, Ian making mental notes of the stuff he’ll probably have a hard time with. They talk for probably the first time in months, about random shit, about Lip’s school. Ian listens as Lip explains everything he’s studying like Ian even knows what he’s talking about. They talk about his professor lady, how they’re still going strong (somehow) and how Amanda (the rich girl) is long gone.

It feels good to just sit and talk to his brother again. It feels normal.

“Are we gonna talk about Mickey?” Lip asks as he finishes the smoke, stamping it out on the window sill.

A chill runs over Ian’s body, “Seeing as last time we did you stormed out, maybe not.”

“I’m calm,” Lip says, holding his hands up defensively, “Just tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Ian says, “He’s gone. I haven’t spoken to him in months, and I’m pretty sure he’s gone for good.”

Lip nods, “And you’re okay with that?”

“No,” Ian admits, “But there’s fuck all I can do about it. He’s a big boy he can make his own goddamn choices. And I’m not one of them.” Ian can feel tears burn in the back of his eyes, but doesn’t let them fall. He’s not going to sit here and cry about Mickey to his big brother like he’s a thirteen-year-old girl.

Lip brings a hand around Ian’s shoulders and squeezes comfortingly, “So it’s still Mickey, huh?”

Ian nods, staring at the wall, “It’s always been Mickey.” Ian’s pretty sure it’s never not going to be Mickey.

* * *

**april**

Ian’s life is dictated by routine now, separated into morning, day, and night.

He wakes up at 8:00 at the latest to take his morning meds, and then immediately goes downstairs to make (at the very least) a single piece of toast, so he can keep the contents of his stomach. From there, he makes a pot of coffee and goes to get his running clothes on.

He’s been getting back into running again, which he thinks is good. The medication (and the many changes in medication) have fucked with his body. If he’s being honest, he hates the way he looks now. But that’s beside the point. Sometimes, if Fiona’s home, she joins him.

After his run, Ian comes home and showers, gets dressed, and goes to make a real breakfast, and drinks his one and only cup of coffee for the day. Anything else fucks around with the meds too much.

Then, if he works that day, he works. He’s doing more than just bussing at Patsy’s now. He asked Fiona if he could give serving a shot and he’s actually pretty good at it. Maybe the fact that he’s generally in a better mood (most days) also helps at the not-hating-his-job thing. Also, the fact that Fiona clued in and stopped scheduling them to have the exact same shifts all the time. That definitely helps.

The night is the simplest. He comes home, he eats with his family (sometimes he cooks, too) and then he takes his night meds, and then he passes the fuck out.

If he’s not working, he’s studying. Ian passed his GED test a few weeks ago, with the smallest of celebrations from the Gallagher’s, and it’s the first time Ian’s felt proud of himself in a long time. Now, he’s taking some night classes and training for the EMT test, which is in a month or two.

When Ian’s not working or studying, he goes to see his therapist. He’s been consistently seeing a therapist, and somehow he lucked out at the clinic. His therapist, Anne, is the one teaching him shit like “consistency” and “healthy coping mechanisms.” 

They’re also working through Ian’s anxiety, which he has a lot more now, what Anne calls “abandonment issues.” Ian’s learning to avoid using language like “crazy” when referring to his mental illness. Outwardly, Ian acts like it’s all stupid, but he thinks it might actually be helping.

And truthfully, things are okay. They’re not perfect, but Ian finally feels like he has some sort of direction now. The pain of Mickey is lessening as time goes on, and he still wishes more than anything that Mickey would come back if anything just so Ian could apologize. But it’s okay, it’s easier for Ian to breathe.

Lip gave Ian his old room since Lip is living on campus for the majority of the year anyway. For the first time in Ian’s whole life, he has a room to himself, and he loves it. He brings some of his posters over from the old bedroom, a few books, his clothes. It feels so good to have a single space that is his, and no one else's.

The Gallaghers are enjoying a bit of peacetime - something they don’t usually get. There’s always Frank wandering in and out, doing his typical shit, but Ian is adjusting. And he’s okay. Really.

* * *

Ian has been spending a lot of time talking to Jason, and Jason’s husband. They’re cool and super accepting. It’s also pretty cool to be friends with other gay people and not be fucking them. The best part is they didn’t know Ian before he was diagnosed. So there’s no expectation of what he is _supposed_ to be like. He can just be the way he is, acts the way he is.

“Ian,” Jason says one day, “You have your GED now, right?”

Ian’s finished eating dinner at their house - well, their apartment. Their two kids (who Ian adores) are back playing in the living room, and Ian’s helping Jason clean up in the kitchen.

Ian nods, pretty enthusiastically, “Yeah, I passed a week or so ago.”

“Are you going to start training soon?” Phil asks.

“Yeah,” Ian says, “I’ve actually started a few courses at the local college.”

“That’s awesome,” Jason says, clapping a hand on Ian’s back, “Proud of you.”

Ian snorts, shoving Jason off, “Yeah, yeah.”

“You should come to the fireman versus police officer barbeque that’s happening,” Jason says, “We’ll all be there, we’ll play some games, eat some food, drink beer. It should be fun.”

Ian raises an eyebrow, “Seriously? No one even knows me there.”

Phil shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter. It’s like a family potluck, I’ll be there, so will the kids. Jason usually gets absolutely plastered, so you definitely don’t want to miss out.”

“Hey!” Jason squawks.

Ian laughs, “Sure, I’ll be there. Text me the info.”

***

Carl gets out on a semi-warm spring afternoon, and Ian finds out by coming home from work and finding him on the couch.

“Dude,” Ian says, “Holy shit - when did you get out?”

Carl hops up, a smug smile on his face as Ian hugs him, “This morning.”

Apparently he got let out on good behaviour and was able to catch a ride back home with a friend. Fiona was the only one there when Carl got home. Why Carl didn’t bother to let anyone know, Ian doesn’t understand. There’s actually a lot about Carl he doesn’t understand right now.

For starters, he has _cornrows_ , Ian has no clue what to think about that.

But they throw a pretty small and lowkey party that night, with a shitty quinceanera cake that was on sale. It’s quiet, and it’s quite typical, everyone drinks a bit, Frank is annoying, Lip was even able to make it for a little while before having to go back to campus.

Later on, Carl leaves with his friend Nick, who is another thing Ian doesn’t understand. Where his tiny little brother met a literal brick wall of a man, Ian does _not_ want to know.

“What the fuck?” Debbie whispers to Ian when Carl walks out the door, their whole family flabbergasted. Ian can’t help but laugh quietly to himself, it’s his only method of coping.

Looks like Gallagher family peacetime is over.

* * *

Ian goes to the barbeque with Jason, Phil, and their kids. The place is crawling with gay firemen - and Ian has been severely lacking some good eye candy lately, so he’s not complaining in the slightest.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” Ian asks Phil, who's been put in charge of barbecuing the food.

“Of course,” Phil says, “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I’m just some kid with his GED and a history of mental illness. I’m not even a licensed EMT, let alone a fireman.”

Phil slaps a hand on Ian’s back comfortingly, “You’re here with Jason and me, you’re in training. Come on, Ian, you’re pretty much family,” he says, the smile on his face calming Ian instantly.

“Thanks,” Ian mumbles, still slightly embarrassed.

“Ian!” Jason screams from the other side of the field, gesturing for Ian to join him (Phil was right about Jason getting pretty plastered at this thing.)

Ian laughs, sharing a glance with Phil as he walks over.

“Do you play?” Jason asks as Ian approaches.

“Softball?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, when I was a kid, yeah.”

“Well, play! We’ll need all the help we can get” Jason laughs, throwing a glove Ian’s way, “If we lose to the gay cops, we’ll ever hear the end of it.”

“The what?” Ian asks.

“You have the right to remain silent while we run the score up on your sorry asses,” a familiar voice says from behind Ian, who turns and sees _Tony Markovich._

“Tony?” Ian says in surprised, especially when the man moves in and offers Ian a side hug, “When did you come out?”

“Oh, your sister turned me gay,” Tony throws back, it’s obviously a joke.

“Oh,” he whispers, “Wow.”

* * *

“So,” Ian says upon returning home, “You’ll never fucking guess who was at this gay fireman barbeque I was just at,” Fiona is boiling pasta on the stove, and Lip is sitting at the table with a beer in his hand.

“Who?” Fiona asks, a goofy smile on her face. Ian cannot wait to wipe it off.

“Tony,” Ian grins. Fiona almost drops the spoon she’s stirring with, and Lip chokes on his beer, coughing aggressively.

“What?!” Fiona shrieks, “Tony Markovich?!”

“The one and only,” Ian laughs, “Said you turned him gay.”

Lip begins to howl with laughter, and Fiona, who’s turned bright red, throws the wooden spoon she was stirring with straight at Lip’s face, “Shut the fuck up!” she turns quickly on Ian, “He did not say that. Tell me he did not say that!”

Ian holds his hands up, laughing slightly himself, “Hey, his words not mine.”

“Holy shit,” Lip laughs, wiping at his eyes where tears have formed before he starts laughing again. Fiona huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, but eventually joins Lip in his laughing. It’s pretty infectious, and eventually, Ian joins in and then it's just the three of them, howling with laughter for a few minutes. And it feels so good, Ian thinks, to just sit with his older siblings and cry laughing.

Eventually, they calm down, and Lip goes and gets Ian a beer, cracking it open. Ian immediately tries to refuse it, but Lip shakes his head, “One won’t kill you, man. It’s okay.”

It’s later, after dinner that Lip brings Tony up again. Fiona’s gone off to bed, and Ian and Lip are sitting on the couch.

“So,” Lip says very casually, “You gonna get on that?” Lip asks.

Ian turns to him, for a second wondering who the fuck he’s talking about before remembering, “Tony?”

“Yeah,” Lip supplies.

“No fucking way,” Ian laughs, that has to be a joke.

“Why not?”

“Two very good reasons. One: I’m not sticking my dick into a guy who stuck his into my sister. Two: I’m just not fucking interested.”

“In Tony?”

“No,” Ian says quickly. It’s definitely not that he doesn’t think Tony is hot. Ian’s thought Tony was hot since he was, like, ten years old, it's just... “It’s just like... I’m not interested in ... sex...” it sounds stupid even to Ian’s ears.

Lip laughs loudly, “Since fucking when?”

“I don’t know, maybe since my pills made my dick limp?” Ian shifts uncomfortably.

“You seriously haven’t...?” Lip makes an obscene masturbation movement with his hand, Ian laughs slightly, shifting again where he’s sitting.

But when he really thinks about it... it has been a long time since he’s felt the need to constantly... well, for lack of a better term, jack it. It’s not that Ian _hasn’t_ , but when he thinks about it, it’s definitely way less than he used to. And that’s when he was also constantly having sex.

“I do,” Ian says, “I just don’t ... I don’t think I want to have sex with anyone right now.”

Lip raises an eyebrow at him, “Is this a Mickey thing?”

“Wha-?” Ian stutters, “No, it’s not a fucking _Mickey_ thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure. Can we stop making every goddamn thing about him, please?” Ian feels a bit panicked, it’s not about Mickey. _This isn’t about Mickey._ Right?

“Okay, okay,” Lip says quickly, putting his hands up. He stands up, “You want another beer?”

“No,” Ian says, “One is really enough for me.”

“God, you’re so fucking lame now,” Lip says, but there is a smile on his face.

And, yeah, considering everything. Ian feels pretty fucking okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut the fact that the fire hall was full of gay firemen all on the same shift because it just wasn’t necessary for the story. But, hey, there’s still a lot of them! Also Caleb ABSOLUTELY does not exist. I also hope you enjoy the introduction of Jason and Phil! I was kind of upset when they introduced Jason, but then never seemed to follow up on him. Ian needs more platonic friends!
> 
> Thank you all again for your comments & continued support of this. I read every comment (even if I don't always reply!) I wish I could have an upload schedule, but I have a crazy busy schedule this year (just started graduate school) and it's difficult to promise when chapters will be up. The good news is, though, that the next few chapters are already 90% written! So I just need to fix them up when I can.
> 
> Also, Mickey is so close. I promise you.


	7. may

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mickey,” Ian says.
> 
> “Fuck,” Mickey says in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some dialogue and ideas taken and adapted from 6x09

Ian’s doing great, but that isn’t to say he doesn’t have bad days.

He can still swing low, the medication keeps it so he isn’t bedridden. He isn’t perfect, and he skips out on his routine every once in a while - he’s slept in and missed his alarm for his meds, he’s skipped his morning run because he’s exhausted.

Routine is important, but even Anne tells him it’s unrealistic to keep his life run by the hour. But sometimes, Ian take sit a bit too far, misses out on too many aspects of his routine, and it’s easy for him to wake up feeling depressed, even if he’s consistently taking his medication.

Studying for EMT training keeps him motivated, it’s always good to have a goal. At least that’s what Anne tells him.

He still does his walks every once in a while. What started as something he was doing while manic and unable to settle turned into a strange coping mechanism. So Ian often goes on walks around the neighbourhood, sometimes runs if he misses out on his morning one.

So he’s doing okay. But nothing is perfect.

* * *

“Where are you going?” Fiona asks Ian as he comes down the stairs into the kitchen.

“To the park with Svetlana and Yevgeny.”

“You’re going to go hang out with your ex’s wife and child?” Fiona says, “You realized how weird that is, right?”

Ian can feel the judgment and tries not to take it too personally. He tries one of those breathing techniques Anne told him about to stay calm, even if he thinks they’re stupid. (But they work, sometimes.)

He shrugs, “Svetlana is my friend, and I care about Yevgeny,” he says, “Besides -  _ you _ hang out with Svetlana all the time now.”

“She’s staying with Kev and V,” Fiona says, “I don’t have a fucking choice.”

Ian rolls his eyes. He knows Fiona likes Svetlana and is just being a whiny bitch about it.

“Okay, well, have fun?” Fiona says with a laugh in her voice that Fiona can’t return. He waves as he heads out, taking a few quick steps next door. Svetlana’s already outside with Yev in the stroller, who immediately recognizes Ian and gives him a big, drooly smile, making grabby hands in Ian’s direction.

Ian smiles back, dropping down to take one of Yevgeny’s pudgy hands, “Hey, little man,” he says, looking up at Svetlana, “Hey.”

“Hello,” Svetlana says in return, her own secret smile on her mouth.

She had asked Ian the day before if he was free in the afternoon to take Yevgeny to the park with her. He had thought it was a bit weird - they were on significantly better terms than when Ian was manic, but they weren’t the best of friends. Ian only got to see Yev and Svetlana if Kev and V were over with their kids, or if Debbie was watching them.

Mickey leaving caused a rift between them, but the fact that Svetlana was been permanently with Kev and V for the better part of the year meant that she was never far away. Ian saw her a lot, sitting with Yev on the front porch, or walking around town, working at the Alibi. There were even a few times that he’s come home from work to see her with Fiona and V, having a few drinks.

Ian maybe should have reached out more. They were family, after all. But it was just hard.

Once at the park, Ian was running after Yevgeny, (who was walking now, holy shit) helping him down the slide, pushing him on the swing. Svetlana watched with a big smile from a bench. It was a pick-me-up Ian didn’t even know he needed, being with the both of them again.

He had a difficult couple of days, sleeping had been difficult, and he was feeling pretty low. It wasn’t the worst he’s been, but it wasn’t the best. But seeing Svetlana and Yev definitely helped.

Later on, after Yevgeny had been sufficiently tired out and was taking a nap in his stroller, Ian and Svetlana were taking a break, sitting next to each other on a bench.

“I hear from V you are studying to me,” she pauses, trying to find the word, “Doctor? Of some sort.”

“EMT,” Ian tells her, “Emergency Medical Technician - it means I would respond to 911 calls, other emergencies. Not an actual doctor.”

“Yes,” Svetlana says, “And you like?”

“I do, actually, yeah. I’m just studying right now, taking a few night classes. Hopefully I can take the test in a few weeks, start actual training then.”

Svetlana nods, her eyes carefully watching Ian.

“Thanks for inviting me out, by the way,” Ian says after a moment, “I’ve missed Yevgeny. And you.”

Svetlana lets out a small laugh, “Do not lie. Yevgeny is reason you come.”

“Well, you can’t really blame me, can you?” Ian jokes.

“No,” Svetlana replies, “I can not. He is my perfect  _ myshka. _ ”

Ian smiles. Svetlana’s not really a touchy-feely person, but when it comes to Yevgeny (and only Yevgeny) that’s all different.

“How have you been?” Ian asks.

“Good,” Svetlana nods, going quiet.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Svetlana says quickly, “It is just busy at home. Kev and V are busy with Alibi, leave me with babies most days. Three one-year-olds is hard.”

Ian can’t help but think that’s not the whole story, “So the three of you ... that’s working out?”

Svetlana smiles at that, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Ian shakes his head, not wanting to picture anything like that, “No, I really don’t,” he laughs.

“Speaking of fucking, are you fucking anyone?”

Ian can’t hold back the blush that spreads across his face, “Um, no. I’m not.”

“No one?”

Why does nobody think Ian can be fucking single if he wants to? Jesus.

“No, there’s no one. I’m sort of enjoying ... myself right now,” Ian hates how stupid that sounds.

Svetlana turns and stares at him again, her eyes burning holes in Ian’s skull and he doesn’t like it. Svetlana is full of secrets, Ian knows this. He can’t help but think there’s something here she isn’t telling him (maybe about Kev and V?) but he doesn’t know.

Instead, he suggests they take the long way home, let Yev sleep some more. Ian pushes the stroller, and Svetlana walks beside him, her arm linked through his.

* * *

“Dude, there’s a party tonight,” Lip says, calling Ian out of the blue one night, “You should come.”

“Me? At a college party?”

“You’re fucking college age, asshole,” Lip laughs, “Yes. Come, you deserve a break.”

“I can’t drink,” Ian supplies, running a hand through his hair. In fact, Ian’s pretty fucking boring now. He doesn’t smoke (cigarettes or weed) and he can’t drink - it really doesn’t mix well with his medications.

“You can have a good time without drinking,” Lip says, “I mean, I’ve never tried it, but apparently it can happen.”

Ian laughs, “Okay, okay, I’ll come.”

* * *

The party is a bit crazy, and definitely loud. Ian’s shocked about the number of people who can fit in a college dorm hallway. Lip’s already off talking to some girl (who definitely isn’t Amanda, who Ian thought Lip was still dating.) Beer pong is happening, shots are taking place. It is most definitely a college party. There were even dudes making out.

(“I think I like college,” Ian had joked to Lip.)

It doesn’t really feel like Ian’s place, though. People are nice enough, but these are Lip’s friends, not his. Ian feels completely out of place, he may be college age, but he isn’t a college student, and it’s evident in the way these kids talk, how they hold themselves.

Also, drunk college girls keep trying to hit on him and it’s kind of annoying.

At one point in the night, Ian’s standing by the window at the end of the hall watching Lip play beer pong with some guys. Ian’s own cup is filled with pop like he’s an eleven-year-old at a birthday party or something. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he picks it up without looking at who is calling.

“Hello?” Ian answers, placing his cup down on the window sill and plugging his other ear with his free hand.

Ian hears a choked breath on the other line, “Hey, it’s Mandy.”

_ Holy shit _ . Ian hasn’t heard from Mandy in months, she stopped answering Ian’s texts months ago, and eventually, Ian just stopped texting. (He’s been kind of busy himself.)

Ian glances over a Lip across the hallway, turning his back from him. He can’t deal with and Lip-and-Mandy bullshit right now, so keeping the conversation safe he says: “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Mandy asks.

“I’m at a party with Lip.”

“Don’t tell him it’s me, tell him it’s someone else, okay?” Mandy says. Ian thinks  _ duh _ , but then it hits him - the panicked edge that Mandy has to her voice.

“What’s going on?”

“I left Indiana, a while back, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m in Chicago in a hotel downtown in some serious shit. I can’t get into it on the phone, can you come here?”

“Where are you?” Ian can barely wrap his head around the fact that Mandy is back in Chicago.

Mandy relays the address to Ian. She makes him promise not to bring Lip, or tell him who just called him, and Ian promises, though he’s pretty sure that Lip is so far gone already that he would barely even notice if Ian left.

He still finds Lip, tells him he’s not feeling well and is going to head home for the night. Lip gives him a laugh, (“Fucking lame, man”) and waves Ian off.

Ian heads towards the address that Mandy gave him. It takes him a while to get there, but he’s able to slip in pretty inconspicuously, finding Mandy’s door. And he knocks.

“Who is it?” comes Mandy’s voice from the other side.

“It’s me,” Ian says.

The door opens aggressively, Ian’s being grabbed by Mandy and slams the door behind both of them. Ian gets a good look at his best friend for the first time in over a year, her makeup running down underneath her eyes. Her nose ring is one, she’s wearing a nice dress, though. Way nicer than anything Mandy has ever owned.

“Are you alright?” he asks, starting to feel a bit panicked himself, but he immediately pulls Mandy into a tight hug, “What’s wrong?”

Mandy pulls Ian by the wrists to the door of the bathroom, “That’s what’s wrong,” she gestures towards the door, Ian walks over and pushes the door open gently to see a  _ fucking naked dude _ on the floor. Bloody. Dead?

“Oh, shit, who is he?” Ian cries.

“Said his name’s Andy, who knows,” Mandy replies. Ian flashes her his tried and true  _ Mandy-what-the-fuck? _ look. 

“What happened?” Ian asks, but Mandy’s starting to walk to the other side of the room, “Mandy, what happened?”

She’s looking down at herself, mumbling, “I got blood on this dress, I’ve only worn this like twice.”

“Mandy!”

“I met him through my service, okay?” Mandy says, spinning back on Ian.

“What service?” 

Mandy sighs, curling in on herself, “Escort,” she says. Oh. Ian’s about to tell her that it’s fine, that she doesn’t have to hide that fact from him, but then the door opens and both of them almost jump out of their fucking skin.

Ian goes cold all over. It’s Mickey. It’s  _ Mickey _ . Of course it’s Mickey, who else would Mandy have called? He looks good, his hair gelled back, he’s wearing a plaid shirt, open, with a dark t-shirt visible underneath. He has a large black duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and then he looks up.

“Mickey,” Ian says.

“Fuck,” Mickey says in return.

Mandy runs over to him, grabbing at the bag aggressively, “Do you have stuff?” she asks.

Mickey looks back and forth between the two of them for a moment, before shoving Mandy away lightly, “Do I have the stuff? Yes, Mandy, that’s where I’ve been for the past forty-five fuckin’ minutes,  _ jeez-us _ ,” he throws the bag down and takes off the plaid shit, his t-shirt tight to his biceps and his chest. He looks so fucking good Ian wants to throw himself out the window a little bit.

But then he remembers where he is. He’s in a fucking hotel room with Mandy, and a fucking dead guy and Mickey is here. It’s more than a little awkward, the three of them standing together in one room again. The last time they were all together was right before Mandy left - but yeah let’s not think about that right now either.

“Mandy, can I fuckin’ talk to you for a second?” Mickey asks, a hard edge to his voice.

Mandy gapes at him like he’s crazy, “Where?” she hisses, but Mickey just grunts and grabs her elbow pulling her off to the bathroom door, right by where the fucking dead guy is. Jesus. 

Ian walks over to the window on the other side of the room, trying to give the two of them some privacy, but he can’t help but stare at their reflections that are visible in the window. They’re whispering, but they’re Milkoviches. Quiet isn’t really in their vocabulary, so Ian can hear every word. 

“Mandy, what the fuck?” Mickey whispers.

“What?”

“The fuck you call him for, huh?”

“You said you were going to be a while and I panicked, okay?! You said we might need an extra hand, so!” Mandy waves her arm in Ian’s direction.

“I didn’t fucking mean - ugh, seriously, Mandy? If this is some fucked up way of yours to get us-” Huh?

“This isn’t about you, shithead! You said we needed help, he was the first person I thought of!”

“I obviously fucking meant call Iggy-”

“Guys?” Ian questions, “I, uh, I’m still here. And so is he,” gesturing awkwardly to the, um - body.

They both roll their eyes like the dead guy is a huge fucking inconvenience to both of them.

Fucking Milkoviches.

Ian just rolls his eyes back, walking over to Mandy (and Mickey, holy shit) and sees that Mandy is shaking. Ian and Mickey share an awkward glance at each other, and Ian grabs Mandy’s elbow gently.

“I forgot you dyed your hair,” Ian says, offering Mandy a smile.

Mandy huffs, “Yeah, the first time was too light, so I had the stylist darken it, add some highlights. Looks more natural this way,” she says.

“You look like a real blonde,” Ian says, giving her elbow a squeeze, and Mandy finally returns the smile.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Can you girls shut the fuck up and help me with this?” Mickey growls out beside the two of them, gesturing to the bathroom.

“Wait, wait,” Ian says, “What the hell are you planning to do?”

Ian gets a disbelieving stare from both Mandy and Mickey in return for that.

“What the fuck do you think?” Mickey says, “We’re getting rid of it.”

“How?”

“Carrying it out, obviously,” Mandy says.

Ian shakes his head, unconsciously putting a hand on Mickey’s arm to stop him from moving away, “No way, there are fucking security cameras in hallways of hotels,” Mickey pulls back from Ian, whispering fuck under his breath. Ian doesn’t know if that’s in response to what he said or his touch.

“We could cover our faces,” Mandy supplies.

Mickey shakes his head, “Nah, they’ll know we came out of this room,” he says.

Then, it’s like all three of them look up at the window, and Ian rolls his eyes. Fucking Milkoviches.

“No,” he says, sternly. Mickey and Mandy share a look with one another, both shrugging, “No,” Ian says again, “The window won’t open all the way, they rig it like that so no one can fall out.”

“Okay, so we take him out in sections,” Mandy says, “Right Mickey?”

Mickey nods, “Yeah I have the shit in the bag,” Mickey gets up from where he’s crouched on the floor, moving towards the black duffel bag he brought in.

How did Ian’s night start at a college party and end with dismemberment?

“Guys,” Ian starts, following Mickey and grabbing the bag from him, “No, Mickey, stop. We gotta call 911.” This immediately protests by both of them, but Ian just shakes his head, and looks towards Mandy, “Listen, have you touched him since he died?”

Mandy shakes her head quickly.

“Then you don’t tell them you’re an escort, you say you met the guy at a bar, you brought him back to your room, that you had rough sex. He went into the bathroom to clean up, and passed out. The paramedics will get here and they’ll see he died of a stroke, and that you called it in.”

Mickey scoffs, “You honestly think that shit will work?”

“Studying to be an EMT, so yeah I think so,” Ian shrugs.

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up, “Ah, going all professional are we, Gallagher?” Ian wonders if he’s imagining the sense of pride he gets from Mickey.

“Can you guys shut the fuck up?” Mandy says, Ian looks over to her and immediately feels bad. Mandy looks absolutely terrified, so Ian moves towards her.

“Mandy, it’ll be fine, okay?” he says, grabbing her shoulders gently, “Trust me.”

* * *

Mandy calls 911, and Ian and Mickey leave the room and stand around the corner of the hall while Mandy goes over the story Ian helped her with once the police arrive. It goes as smoothly as Ian thought it would, but he can tell Mickey is going absolutely fucking nuts waiting for Mandy to finish up with them. They don’t speak a word to one another.

Eventually, Mandy is cleared, and she’s free to leave with them.

Mandy says she’s hungry and insists Ian doesn’t leave yet, so Mickey drives them all to a drive-thru where they get burgers. It’s silent while they eat, and Ian absentmindedly checks his phone, hoping he’ll have something from Lip at the party, but instead he realizes the time. He forgot his night-time meds.

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, Mandy turns around and looks at him.

“What’s up?”

“Yeah,” Ian says, running a hand over his face, “I just, uh, forgot to take my meds tonight.” He hasn’t missed a single dose since he started with this new regimen. 

Mickey’s head whips around from the front, “You’re on medication?!” he asks, shocked. Right. When Mickey left Ian was refusing to take his meds. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t really want to talk about it - he still hates talking about his medication with anyone who isn’t a doctor or his therapist.

“I refused to dismember a dead body with you tonight, and you’re asking me that question?” Ian returns.

“Good point,” Mickey mumbles.

“You gonna be okay?” Mandy asks, very gently. That’s another thing Ian hates, people thinking that one missed dose means he’s going to go fucking nuts.

“Yeah,” Ian says, his voice quiet and light, “I’ll be fine.” He can actually feel Mickey’s eyes on him from the rear-view mirror. Ian purposely doesn’t look back, he doesn’t want to know what he’ll see in Mickey’s face.

They finish eating. Mandy asks if they can go back to her place now and Mickey nods, turning on the car and starting the drive to wherever it is Mandy is living now. It turns out, Mandy lives in a relatively nice area, in an apartment complex with a few other girls on the same escort service she’s working for. When they pull up, Mandy gets out, and Ian follows her. Just to say goodbye.

“That’s a nice dress,” Ian says, as he shuts the car door behind him, “I’m sure the blood will come out.”

Mandy nods, not really taking Ian’s blood comment as an attempted light-hearted joke. “You know I’m okay, right? The company I work for is a real business. Payroll checks, health insurance, they take Amex,” she says, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing Mickey’s plaid shirt over her dress, “I’m saving money, I got a nice apartment, I’m living with good people, Mickey’s driving  _ my car _ .”

Ian nods, hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet, “That guy tried to strangle you,” he says quietly.

“That’s the first time that happened and I used to get beat up for free,” Mandy scoffs, a bitter sound on her tongue, Ian cringes at the mention of Kenyatta. “Now I don’t sleep with anyone - I don’t want to - and I have regulars who are like boyfriends. One guy flew me to New York first class.”

Ian looks at her then, and sees Mandy. She does look happy, she looks healthy. Blonde really does suit her. He looks at her and doesn’t see that broken South Side girl anymore, and it both hurts and heals him. He smiles at her, “What was that like?”

Mandy smiles back at him, an actual smile, “We saw Wicked on Broadway, and I went to restaurants, jacuzzi in the hotel,” her arms drop from her chest, hands ringing together.

Ian nods, glancing at his feet again before admitting, “I was dancing in that club last year, blew guys for fifty bucks, so ... there's no judgement.”

“Why’d you stop?” Mandy asks.

Ian laughs, “Because I went to a psych ward?”

Mandy smiles, “I’m really proud of you,” she says. Ian wishes that people would stop saying that. 

They hug tightly, Mandy’s hand cradling the back of Ian’s head before she pulls away, “Gonna head up,” she says, glancing back at the car behind Ian. “Talk to him, will you? And listen, too,” she says, giving Ian’s hand a squeeze as she turns and walks away, “Oh, and fucking call me once in a while, okay douchebag?”

Ian laughs, “Yeah,” he agrees, “I will.”

“Gallagher,” Ian hears Mickey’s voice from behind him, “Get in the car I’ll drive you home.”

Ian turns to him, “You don’t-”

“Shut the fuck up and get in the car,” Mickey says, a joking tone to his voice that makes Ian want to smile. So he gets in the car.

They don’t talk. Ian can’t figure out what to say and Mickey appears strangely calm, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his temple with his elbow by the window. Ian can’t help but keep looking back at him, expecting Mickey to throw him a  _ the fuck you looking at? _ But he doesn’t. The ride is quiet, and Mickey lets Ian stare at him, and before he knows it they’re parked outside the Gallagher house.

Mickey turns the car off. It’s suddenly so quiet the world feels like it’s vibrating. Ian glances at his house, there aren’t any lights on other than the porch. Everyone must be asleep, or out. He turns back to Mickey.

“Hi,” Ian says.

Mickey lets out a breath, “Hey.”

“You’re living with Mandy?” Ian questions.

Mickey nods, “Yeah, crashing on her couch.”

“For how long?”

Mickey doesn’t make eye contact, “Just a couple weeks.”

It’s a blow straight to Ian’s gut. Mickey has been back in Chicago for weeks and he hasn’t reached out to Ian. Part of him knows that it’s unfair for him to wish that Mickey had called him when he got back in town. It just proves the existence of this crater that is between them now.

“Where did you go?” Ian asks. He doesn’t know if Mickey is going to answer, but he isn’t ready to say goodbye yet. Isn’t ready to let Mickey walk away, not when he doesn’t know if this will be the last time he sees him for another six months.

Mickey scratches at the back of his head, looking ahead of them, “I just went around. Iggy and I split after a while, I tried to go to Indiana to find Mandy, but she had already left. I just ... took advantage of being on the road and stayed on the road for a while. Worked a few random ass jobs, did a few scams.”

“Why did you come back?” Ian shouldn't ask, but he does.

“I came back because Mandy called me,” Mickey says, his voice hard.

Fuck. Ouch. Tears prick at the back of Ian’s eyes, so he looks down at his lap and tries to gain control of himself.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Of course.”

He hears Mickey let out a breath, “I don’t fucking mean - I just -  _ fuck _ ...” Ian doesn’t even know how to respond to that, and when he manages to look up at Mickey again, he can’t stop what comes flooding out of him.

“I’m taking my meds. I’m stable, I get up in the morning, and I go for a run, and I work, or I study. I-I think this EMT shit is going to be good for me. And I’m good, I’m feeling... okay, normal, I guess. It’s been good, not easy, not good and-”

“Ian,” Mickey says softly, “That’s good.”

“I miss you,” Ian whispers, “I was a fucking wreck after you left.”

“Ian,” Mickey says again. Ian really doesn’t like the tone Mickey has, it makes his skin itch and he has to turn his head away and look out the window. When he turns back Mickey’s looking at him, their eyes locking, neither of them moving and it’s  _ charged _ as hell. 

Ian undoes his seatbelt and leans over, Mickey leaning forward and they come together. They kiss, hard and soft, and Ian’s bracing himself on Mickey’s seat, who is leaning upwards, his hands grabbing at the back of Ian’s head, the tips of his fingers in Ian’s hair. Suddenly all the bullshit he’s been saying about not being interested in sex, or anything is all a fucking lie. 

_ Fuck _ , Ian missed this. Missed this part of Mickey so fucking much, he groans softly into the kiss, his free hand going to the back of Mickey’s head and pulling him even closer, their tongues finding each other. 

They just make out like that for what feels like forever. It turns real fucking dirty, Mickey’s panting a little into Ian’s mouth, and Ian can’t help it, honestly. His hand goes towards Mickey’s crotch on instinct, covering him and giving a firm squeeze, Mickey gasps into his mouth, pushes forward into Ian’s hand, but pulls his mouth away.

“Wait,” he pants, hand grabbing Ian’s wrist, halting his movements, “Wait,” he says again. Ian begins to pull back, but Mickey doesn’t let him get that far. They’re both breathing heavily and staring at each other. It all happened so fast but Mickey looks so fucking wrecked, his lips red and wet. Shit.

“I missed you, too,” Mickey whispers, “Fuck, I missed you,” he leans their foreheads together and Ian lets out a breath, his hand moves to hold Mickey’s hip, thumb pressing against Mickey’s warm skin. 

His chest feels tight, way too tight. Mickey’s here now, literally right in front of him and he can make it all right again. But he doesn’t know if Mickey wants that, who Mickey has been with these past few months if Mickey is even going to be staying in Chicago. He’s so scared of saying the wrong thing, so he doesn’t say anything, just slowly leans back so he can sit in his seat.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispers, looking out the windshield.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Mickey says back with an awkward laugh. Ian realizes Mickey thinks he’s talking about the kiss.

Ian shakes his head, “No, not for that. I’m not sorry about that,” he admits, feeling his face flush like he’s fifteen-years-old. “I meant - for like everything else. I’m sorry.”

Mickey is quiet beside him. But then he’s putting his hand out towards Ian like he’s waiting for Ian to give him something. Fucking hold his hand? What?

“What?” Ian asks.

“Gimme your phone,” Mickey says.

Ian gives to him, and Mickey takes it, unlocks it. Because of course Ian never changed his passcode and of course Mickey still remembers it. He’s going into Ian’s contacts, finding “Mick” and typing into it.

“I have a new number,” Mickey explains, handing the phone back to Ian. “I’m too tired to talk about this with you tonight, I’m just - really fucking tired. So call me. We can talk, yeah?”

Ian realizes that the phone thing was his signal to leave the car. He isn’t ready to leave Mickey now, but he doesn’t want to overstep, so he grabs his backpack and pops open the door, stepping out. Before he closes the door he turns back to Mickey, looks back at him. “You know that I’m sorry, though? Right? I’m so fucking sorry.”

Mickey isn’t looking at Ian, his hands are in his lap. He raises his head and gives him a nod. “Yeah, Ian,” he says gently, putting the keys in the ignition and turning the car back on. Ian gives him a soft smile, and closes the door, stepping back.

Ian watches Mickey drive away, and tries not to think about the last time Mickey drove away from him. Tries to remember that Mickey has Mandy’s car and he won’t leave Chicago with it. Tries to focus on the fact that he has the go-ahead to call. Just tries to focus on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you Mickey was close.


	8. interlude: november to may (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where they ended up: with Mickey on the run from his thoughts, and Ian's thoughts running him.

When Mickey left it was really to help Iggy with a run. It was a total coincidence that Iggy had to make a gun run out of state, but it was true. (Or, maybe, looking back at it all, Iggy had made something up and just helped Mickey get out because he said he wanted to.) Anyway, it was around then that Mickey fucking busted his phone, but with the cash he and Ig had split, he managed to get another one, just a shitty burner. He got a few important numbers from Iggy, like his brothers, Svetlana, Mandy. Not that any of them would answer if he called. 

After that, Iggy left him with the car they drove up with and stole himself something to get back to Chicago in.

* * *

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yes, now fuck off."

"At least call every once in a while so I know you ain't dead."

"Back at 'ya."

* * *

From there, Mickey drove himself wherever the fuck he wanted. He started with Indiana, it was time for Mandy to get away from Kenyatta. He went to the address Mandy had eventually given him months ago, only to find out from the mother fucker that Mandy had stolen his car, and left weeks ago. Good fucking on her.

Mickey had tried calling her, but the bitch never picked up. Eventually, he gave up, and stayed around Indiana for a bit, getting some cash, sleeping in the car. He wasn't fucking ready t ogo back to Chicago. He thought he would have looked like an idiot, making that big speech to Ian about leaving only to show back up after a few weeks. 

Instead, Mickey just drove. He had a car (a shitty one, but it moved) he had whatever money he could scrounge up (running scams, selling some pot Iggy left him) and he had some clothes on his back. It was all he needed.

He slept in the car most of the time, which he's sure would be disgusting for some people, but he honestly didn't mind it. He's slept in worse before, and he stayed warm in the day by sitting in coffee shops. He would use showers in homeless shelters or city gyms whenever he found one to sneak into.

He kept his promise to Iggy, sent him a text that said _"alive"_ every few weeks. He sent money to Svetlana and Yevgeny whenever he could. Mickey might not be around, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let that kid die from cold or malnutrition. Somehow he had gotten attached to the little fucker, he doesn't know how or when. He blamed Ian for that, honestly.

Mickey blamed Ian for a lot of shit.

But Mickey did his best to not even think about Ian. What he was doing, if he was actually on medication, if he was even fucking alive. Mickey didn't think about it, he tried to move on, fucking randoms at the local gay bars he found. It took the edge off, let him forget all of it for a little while.

It didn't always work, though. Sometimes Mickey would make a load of cash, go to the bar, and get drunk, fully intending on going home with some guy. But he would just drink, and keep drinking, until he was telling every person, including the bartender to fuck off and leave him alone, his head swimming with thoughts of Ian.

This is where they ended up: they had fought to be able to love each other, to be with one another, and things just kept getting in the way. Fathers, prison, illness. And this is where they stuck the landing. With Mickey on the run from his thoughts, and Ian's thoughts running him.

* * *

Mickey didn't stay in one place for very long. He didn't want to get attached to somewhere, wasn't ready to create a new home somewhere. That would be like admitting defeat, like acknowledging that Chicago wasn't his home anymore.

After a few months, Mickey was running out of money, and he knew he should call it quits. Just go back and make up a new plan. Decide if he was going to stay, or go and get some serious money to leave for good. He doesn't know if he could live in a neighbourhood with Ian Gallagher anymore, doesn't think he would be able to stay away from him.

* * *

Then, Mandy finally called him back.

"Where the fuck are you?" he said.

"None of your goddamn business."

"Well I drove all the way to fucking Indiana ready to shoot Kenyata in the head and get you out of there, so yeah, it kinda is my fucking business."

"You came to get me?"

"Yes, bitch. How did you get this number."

"Iggy. Where's Ian?"

"Ian and I are done, okay? He fucking dumped me."

"I'm in Chicago."

* * *

So like many things in Mickey's life, it was decided for him. He went back, started crashing on Mandy's prissy couch. Her sugar baby roommates didn't mind, as long as he didn't try and sleep with them or fuck around in their escorting shit. He got a few odd jobs near Mandy's place, eventually securing a job as a security guard for a (very straight) nightclub in the area. 

It's fine, it's normal enough, and Mickey's far enough from the South Side that he doesn't have to worry about running into anyone he isn't interested in seeing.

He calls Svetlana and tells her she's back in Chicago but forces her not to tell _anyone,_ not even the Gallagher's nosy as fuck neighbours she's shacked up with. Mickey doesn't want to see any Gallaghers, and he sure as hell doesn't want to see Ian. He's not ready to know what Ian is up to. If he's medicated, then he'll probably want to _talk_ and shit. If he's not, then he's manic or depressed and Mickey doesn't want to even _think_ about that.

* * *

After a few weeks, Svetlana brings Yevgeny by Mandy's place.

"I saw your redhead boy today. You haven't told him you are back."

Mickey's holding Yevgeny close, his little hands roaming MIckey's face and neck, "Fuck no, I haven't."

"You are piece of shit. He should know."

"Ian won't know shit until I want him to, so you better keep your fucking mouth shut."

* * *

Mandy tries to make him talk to her about Ian, but he blows her off every single time. He knows what she wants, she wants him to go and check-in, wants him and Ian to talk about their _feelings_ or whatever the hell else she thinks is important. She won't believe him when he says they're done, that's over, forever.

"You and Ian will never be done and you fucking know it."

That's part of the problem, isn't it?

This is why, when Mickey walks back into Mandy's hotel room after getting shit to cover up a dead body in her bathroom and sees Ian fucking Gallagher there, he thinks that this is some fucked up way Mandy is forcing them to talk to one another.

Ian looks so goddamn good Mickey is torn between punching him and ripping all his clothes off. Which he almost does sitting next to him in Mandy's car. Ian looks good, healthy, he says he's on his meds, and Mickey believes him. Mickey felt like he was talking to a version of Ian he knew and understood.

And because Mickey is weak when it comes to Ian, he gives him his goddamn phone number. Dips his toe back in the water, tells Ian to call him, and waits to see if Ian actually will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a small interlude of a chapter, but the next chapter is almost finished, so I may upload that one this week as well! Thank you all again for your kind comments and kudos on this work! I finally figured out the chapter count - we should be ending around 12 chapters. 
> 
> xo Em


	9. may, cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know what the fuck to say to you," Mickey says.

Ian sat at the kitchen table with his coffee in hand. Everyone has left the house by now, off doing whatever the hell it is that his siblings do. He has some toast he's trying to make himself eat, but he feels a bit too queasy. He doesn't know if it's his meds or if he is actually so wound up from seeing Mickey last night that his stomach is fucked up.

The door opens, and Ian turns to see Lip coming in. He must have gotten in from the party last night. Ian offers him a wave, which Lip returns half-heartedly. He looks like total shit, Ian thinks.

"What are you doing here?" Ian asks. Lip hasn't been around much lately, with it being closer to the end of the school semester and all.

"Too fucking loud at the dorms," Lip says, he has a bag on his shoulder and throws it down, "Plus, laundry." He walks over and pours himself a cup of coffee.

Ian gives him a nod in return, trying to stifle a yawn. He got in late last night, which didn't give him much time before his alarm went off for his morning meds. "Late night?" Lip asks, mostly as a joke.

"Yeah," Ian says before he realizes he should have lied.

LIp cocks his eyebrow up, "Really? You up late studying?"

"Um," Ian says, "Yeah."

Lip just stares at him, Ian attempting to avoid his gaze.

"You are literally the worst liar I have ever met, Ian," Lip says, "What were you doing last night?"

Ian cringes, "I just was out helping a friend."

"Yeah, what friend?"

Lip is testing him. They both know Ian's pathetic and has no fucking friends. He could probably say Jason, but Jason is literally a _dad_ and there's no way Ian went over to his after midnight. He should probably just tell Lip he saw Mandy and Mickey last night, but he doesn't want to involve himself in any Lip-Mandy shit, and he _definitely_ doesn't want to have Lip talk crap about Mickey, not when he's trying to work up the nerve to call him.

"Just a friend, no big deal," Ian supplies, finishing his coffee and getting up from the table, walking up the stairs before Lip can continue the conversation. Ian heads to his room, intending to grab his EMT study books and start for the day, but Lip follows him.

"Dude, what's up?" 

Ian scratches the back of his head, "I saw Mandy last night," he admits. A half-truth is probably best.

"Mandy?" Lip asks, his expression unreadable, "She's back in Chicago?"

Ian just shrugs. It isn't a yes or a no. Lip doesn't need to know, and Mandy wouldn't want him to.

"What happened?"

Ian shrugs, "She was just dropping in to say hi."

"And?"

"And she's gone now," Ian lies, this one easily falling out of his mouth.

"Good," Lip says, Ian's gut churning, "The last thing you need right now is for her to bring her fucking brother back."

Ian doesn't want to get into an argument about Mickey right now, thinks it will just hurt too much. So he grunts, and Lip nods, taking a sip of his coffee and heading back down the stairs.

* * *

A few hours later, Lip has passed out on the couch from the night before, laundry grumbling in the machine. And the only thing Ian can think about is calling Mickey. He figures that now is the emptiest the house will be, and hungover-Lip can sleep through anything. So he closes his bedroom door tightly and picks up his phone.

The phone rings, and it rings, and it rings. For a second Ian thinks he's going to be sent to voicemail before he hears Mickey's gruff voice from the other line, "Yeah?"

"Hey," Ian says, "It's me."

"Hi," Mickey says back.

There's silence between them. Neither knowing exactly what to say, and it shows. Ian can't help but emit an awkward laugh before speaking again.

"So," he says, "I, um, called you. Like you said I could."

"Good to know you can still use a fucking phone," Mickey responds, voice laced with sarcasm, but Ian can hear a hint of fondness in Micky's voice that makes his stomach start to turn.

"I don't know what to say," Ian admits, laughing to himself.

He hears Mickey return a gruff laugh through the other line, and it just makes Ian smile more.

"I didn't think you were gonna come back," Ian admits.

"I wasn't sure I was," Mickey says, "But... I wanted to see Mandy. Make sure she was okay."

Ian nods. Tries to ignore the pit of jealousy that forms in his stomach. Of course, Mickey didn't come back for him, it's not fair for Ian to even think that. Mandy is his goddamn sister for fuck's sake, of course, Mickey would come back for her.

"So, what were you up to?" Ian questions, trying to keep things light. He just wants Mickey to stay on the phone with him, just to hear his voice for as long as possible. He has no clue where this conversation is going, but he sure as hell doesn't want Mickey to hang up.

"Like I said, I was just driving around, passing through areas," Mickey says, a nonchalant tone to his voice.

"What are you doing now?"

"Just working security for this nightclub a few blocks from Mandy's place."

"That's really great, Mick," Ian says softly, the nickname falling easily off his lips.

"Yeah, it's alright," Mickey responds, "Security is the only fucking thing on my resume so it'll do." They fall into silence again, Ian chewing on his bottom lip in worry.

"You're not back at your place?"

"Nah, Iggy said my dad got out and has been coming and going. I really don't wanna deal with that shit," Mickey explains. Ian nods, he definitely wouldn't want to run into Terry either.

"Can I see you again?" Ian asks before he can stop himself.

He's just met with silence on the other line.

"I don't know," Mickey says so, so quietly, Ian barely hears it.

Ian squeezes his eyes shut, embarrassment ripping through him, Yeah, yeah that's fine," he says quickly, "Forget about it."

"It's not that I don't-" 

"I get it, it's fine."

"It was great seeing you, it was, but it's just - it's fucking hard, okay? It wasn't easy seeing you."

"It wasn't easy for me either," Ian throws back, anger boiling up in him so quickly it makes him feel hot all over.

"Do I need to remind you that you're the one who fucking dumped me?" Mickey shoots back.

"You never fucking called me back!" Ian hisses.

It's like ice is poured over their conversation, Ian can feel Mickey calm down even on the other side of the phone.

"What?" he asks.

"I fucking called you, Mickey," Ian says, his voice strangely calm, "I called you months ago after you left, and left you a goddamn message. Are you seriously going to act like you never got it?"

"Ian," Mickey says, "I never got any fucking messages from you."

Oh. Ian feels like the idiot now.

"I have a new phone, dipshit, remember?" Mickey explains, "I lost my old one months ago, way back when I was with Iggy."

Mickey never got Ian's fucking message. _Mickey never got it._ Ian has a strange mix of relief and guilt - relief because that means Mickey didn't get the message of Ian admitting his love and choosing to stay away. But it doesn't mean that Mickey didn't want to stay away, that he doesn't want to be with Ian and be involved in his fucked up life. All it means is that any anger Ian felt towards Mickey in these last few months is completely unjustified.

It's a reminder that this position the two of them are in right now is all Ian's fucking fault.

"Oh," is the only thing Ian can say back. He hears a scoff from the other side.

"What did you say?" Mickey asks.

"It's not important now," Ian just whispers back. This is not how he wants to tell Mickey he loves him. Over the phone in the midst of a fight after being broken up for over six months.

"Listen," Mickey sighs, "You gotta give me some fucking time to work this all out, okay? I said I'd talk to you, not that I was ready to see you," Ian can hear Mickey's heavy breathing, and Ian knows this is all falling to shit, so he just lets Mickey keep talking, "I can't fucking do this right now, alright? I-I'm not done with you, but just - don't call me, okay? I'll call you."

"Okay," Ian manages to croak out, trying to force himself to keep from crying but knowing he's failing.

"Bye."

Mickey hags up. It takes all of Ian's ability not to throw his phone at the wall in rage. Mickey has been back in his life less than twenty-four hours and he's already gone and screwed it up.

For months, the only thing he wanted was for Mickey to come back to Chicago, so he could talk to him, and explain everything. Beg for forgiveness, and maybe get it back. Of course, he wanted to be with him again, but Anne had been teaching him not to always expect the best situation to happen. Lowering his expectations when it comes to Mickey, who Ian has created high expectations for.

Except now Mickey never got any message from Ian, and Ian is now the one who royally fucked up once again. Literally everything is Ian's fault, _everything_. 

* * *

Ian fucking called him and left a message and Mickey never got it. That's just Mickey's luck. All this bullshit could have been solved months ago if Mickey wasn't a fucking idiot and lost his phone while on the road.

He's getting way ahead of himself, though. Mickey doesn't know what the fuck Ian said on the message, and Ian didn't let up on it. Ian could very well have told him to stay the fuck away.

But the way Ian kissed Mickey in the car, told him he missed him, makes Mickey think otherwise. Fuck, he has been thinking about that kiss way too much. Thinking about how he should have let it gone father, how he shouldn't have let it happen at all.

Ian's been back in Mickey's life for less than twenty-four hours and Ian's already driving him insane.

They're like fucking magnets, the two of them. This is why Mickey didn't tell Ian he was back, wasn't ready to tell Ian anything. Because whenever the two of them are in the same town, they always come together, no matter what. It's why Mickey left in the first place.

Because Mickey can't _think_ with Ian around.

Because Ian is the sea and Mickey can fucking drown in him.

* * *

Mandy walks out of the bathroom, hair up in a towel. She sees Mickey scowling on her couch, his phone in her hand, "Ian called?"

Mickey gives her a dirty look, throwing a middle finger up at her, and Mandy just laughs, walking into her bedroom. Her phone is ringing and sees (shockingly) that it's Ian. She quickly makes sure her door is actually shut before picking up.

"Hey," she says.

"I think I've fucked everything up already," Ian says in a rush.

"What?"

"With Mickey. I've fucked everything up already."

Ian sounds panicked, he's breathing heavily into the phone. Mandy doesn't think she's ever heard Ian like this.

"Okay, Ian, calm down," she says.

"I can't calm down, Mandy!" Ian hisses, "I literally cannot calm down even if I wanted to. I think he hates me. He definitely hates me. How could he not?"

"Ian, breathe," Mandy presses, "What did he say?"

* * *

Mandy storms into the living room, and grabs the book Mickey is reading straight from his hands, "You have to talk to Ian."

"The fuck?" Mickey says, trying to grab the book back.

Mandy holds the book over her head, out of Mickey's reach, "You have to talk to him," she says again, "You can't just leave him hanging waiting on you to figure out your shit."

"Oh, like I've done for him a thousand fucking times?" Mickey retorts, "You don't know fucking anything about Ian and me, so butt the fuck out."

"I don't know anything?" Mandy laughs, "You really fucking don't know shit. I know Ian loves you."

Mickey laughs, he can't make himself say anything to that because his throat is closed up. Ian doesn't love him. If Ian loved him he would have said so a long fucking time ago.

"You forget I've been here since the beginning," Mandy says.

"The beginning of what, bitch?"

"You and Ian!" Mandy says, her voice raised and tight, angry and soft, "I may have not known it was you he was fucking but I knew everything. He told me everything."

"What are you on about?" Mickey asks, but he knows.

"He told me he was screwing someone new," she says, "You know he was fucking Kash - the guy who owned the store," Mickey does not want to hear about Ian and fucking _Kash_ after all these years, but he keeps quiet.

"Ian was so crazy in love with Kash. Or at least I thought he was, but the _second_ this other guy showed up, Kash became nothing more than dirt on Ian's shoe."

"That guy _is_ dirt," Mickey spits. He can't help it.

"Agreed," Mandy says, "But my point is, he told me about this new guy. He wouldn't tell me who - said it was some other south side guy, that it had to be a secret, but he would _not_ shut up about this guy."

Mickey can't help the blush that creeps up his neck.

"Ian was always with him, always had a story about him," Mandy continues, "This guy was dangerous and sexy. He would always go back to him, even when he would disappear for a few months. He was always worried that this guy didn't like him, or was only with him because Ian kept coming back. But it didn't matter, because you should have seen the look on Ian's face when he would talk about this guy."

Mickey remembers that Ian. Gangly Ian who caught Mickey off guard, only to grow fifteen pounds of muscle in a few months. Ian who always smiled at Mickey so brightly that he was sure people could tell what the two of them got up to in the dark. Ian who was so sure, so positive that Mickey and he were going to end up together.

That Ian feels so distant from the guy he knows now. Ian hasn't been that guy in months, and Mickey doesn't know if it's because of his bipolar... or because of Mickey.

"Ian loves you," Mandy says again. Mickey can't met her eyes, "He loved you when you went to juvie, and he loved you when he watched you marry someone else, and he loved you when Svetlana had your baby."

"I didn't want _any_ of that shit," Mickey spits out. That's one thing he's sure Ian hasn't told Mandy. About _that day_ , about how Yevgeny actually came to be. (If he's even Mickey's in the first place.) Mickey may love Yevgeny now, but he will not lie and say he wanted the kid even for a second.

"I know," Mandy says, "But it happened. Ian loves you, I just told think he knows how to tell you. I think part of him is still that fifteen-year-old who's afraid you'll run away."

"Mandy..." Mickey starts.

"I get it," Mandy says quickly, "It sounds like he really fucked up. But..."

"But what?"

"I just got off the phone with him," Mandy admits, and he was _freaking out_ thinking that he's already fucked everything up with you already. I mean - he wouldn't tell me everything that happened. But trust me when I say he takes full blame. He just wants you to know that."

"Then what do you want?" Mickey asks. He's getting so tired of this conversation.

"I just want you guys to make a fucking decision," Mandy says bitterly, "If you don't want to be with him, you need to tell him. Because Ian would probably wait forever for you. And you would wait forever for him."

Mandy throws Mickey's book back at him, "And it's about fucking time the two of you smartened up and stopped dancing around each other. It's been four fucking years."

* * *

> MICKEY to IAN: Im sorry
> 
> IAN to MICKEY: Its ok  
>  IAN to MICKEY: I missed you so much mick you have no idea
> 
> MICKEY to IAN: Fuck off  
>  MICKEY to IAN: ill call u

* * *

A week goes by and Mickey doesn't hear from Ian. It feels weird because Mickey would think Ian would be calling non-stop, trying to get Mickey to talk to him, forgive him. He doesn't know what to think.

On one hand, he wishes Ian would just call because Mickey is too much of a pussy to make the first move (as usual.) On the other, it's really nice that Ian is listening to what Mickey wants, which is space.

You would think after spending months of worrying about Ian, hoping he was okay, safe, hopefully taking care of himself, that Mickey would want nothing more than to just jump back into things with him. But it's all just too much, Ian is too much sometimes. And wasn't the whole reason Mickey left to, like, find himself? Or whatever?

Fuck, he doesn't know.

And Mandy won't lay the fuck off him. She hasn't said much more since that conversation in the living room. (That whole discussion probably filled up the Milkovich-family-bonding-meter for the next year, anyway.) That doesn't mean Mandy hasn't _said_ anything. The bitch is the fucking queen of dirty looks. Whenever Mickey passes her in the small apartment as he's coming and going from his job, she'll glare at him, let him know exactly how she feels.

Mickey knows he should call Ian. But he doesn't know what the fuck he's going to say.

_Hey, thanks for waiting for me to call. I just don't know what to say to you because I haven't seen you in seven months. You know, since you broke my heart, curb-stomped it and left me out to bleed._

Ian was always the better talker. Or at least, he used to be.

So, in typical Mickey fashion, he pussies out.

> MICKEY to IAN: i don't know what the fuck to say to u

The reply comes in so fast Mickey almost feels winded by it.

> IAN to MICKEY: Me neither  
>  IAN to MICKEY: Just say what youre thinking

Mickey calls him, Ian picks up on the first ring.

"I'm thinking: I don't know what the fuck to say to you," Mickey says.

"Okay," Ian replies, Mickey can fucking _hear_ the smile in his voice, "I could tell you what I'm thinking?"

"I'm thinking I'm sorry," Ian says, his voice suddenly more serious than playful, "I'm thinking I missed you for seven months, I'm thinking about how I did all of this for you, and that the only thing I want to prove to you is that I'm better. I'm better for _you_."

Mickey swallows, "Oh," he replies.

"I'm thinking I _really_ want to see you," Ian continues.

"No," Mickey says quickly.

"What are you afraid will happen?" Ian asks.

Mickey bites his lip, unsure if he should really tell Ian all of his fears. There is a fucking lot, and he isn't sure if it will be too much.

"I'm afraid that you'll suck me back down into you without us even fixing anything," Mickey admits, "And I ain't fucking sure that's what I want."

There's silence on the other line. Mickey wishes Ian would just fucking say what he is thinking rather than going silent. Ian always used to say what he thought, even when Mickey never asked to hear it.

"I don't mean..." Mickey trails off, he doesn't know how to _talk_ about this shit, "I just mean... have you noticed that whenever we are together we end up fucking?"

"Um, yes?"

"That's what I don't want. I don't want us to just pick up where we left off like nothing ever happened. We were never a discussion, we just fucking _happened_ and we kept happening. You just gotta - you gotta cut me some slack here, Ian, the last time I saw you, _you_ ended things with _me_. Not the other way around."

"I know," Ian says, "But I-"

"You didn't mean it?" Mickey shoots back, "This is what I mean, Ian, you can't just decide you want me one day, then change your mind the other. I won't just sit around and wait for you to decide you want me."

"You're right," Ian says, "I just wanna make this right, Mick. Tell me what you want from me and I'll fucking do it."

Mickey lets out a breath, "Give me some space. When I ask for it. I wanna ... talk to you, I wanna hear from you. I wanna know how you're doing. I just wanna ... take it slow, okay?"

"I can do that," Ian says quickly, "I can so do that."

Mickey can't help but smile, "Okay."

"I'll call you once a week," Ian says, "And I can tell you how things are with me, and you can tell me about you. And _whenever_ you want to see me I want to see you, got it?"

Mickey nods, even though Ian can't see it, "Okay."

Maybe it's a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I am repeating myself, but just thank you again to those who are coming back with every update and to anyone new coming to the story. It has been a long time since I’ve written anything this long, and I’m just glad there are people out there enjoying it as much as I am enjoying writing it. 
> 
> xo Ems


	10. june

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's terrified that Mickey is going to turn around one of these days and tell him that he's done. That these conversations they've been having don't mean anything, and that Mickey can't be with him, that Ian's done too much damage.

It is a start.

Ian calls Mickey once a week, and he'll tell him about his day, and Mickey tells Ian about his. It's usually uneventful, Ian works, and studies, and sleeps. Mickey works and sleeps ... and not much else.

Mickey is more than fine taking it slow, he's still trying to figure out the best way for Ian and him to deal with their shit. If he sees Ian now, he feels like he'll throw all of this progress he's made out of the window.

They run out of things to talk about pretty quickly, though. Both of them avoiding delving deep into everything else. Mickey isn't complaining. Even though a part of him wants to try and work things through, the other part of him is afraid of what will come up when they do.

He doesn't want to fight with Ian, fighting with Ian (verbally or physically) always leaves Mickey exhausted and hurting (physically and mentally.)

Instead, Mickey comes up with a stupid idea.

"Let's play a game," he says one day, "Tell me something you've never told anyone else."

Ian laughs on the other side of the line, "Um ... I haven't had sex with anyone since you."

"Seriously?" Mickey asks. Yeah, that's more than a little bit shocking to him. He would have thought Ian would have been cruising like nobody's fucking business while Mickey was gone.

"Yes," Ian says impatiently, "Wait - shit I think I told Lip that."

Mickey rolls his eyes, he figured there isn't much Ian hasn't told his brother, "It's fine."

"Okay. Your turn."

"I don't know if I'm going to stay in Chicago," Mickey admits, since they're starting out with heavy-hitters, "I'm not sure that there is for me here anymore."

"You should stay," Ian immediately replies.

Mickey swallows, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Ian says, "If you want."

"Do you want me to?" Mickey can't help but ask, even though he's terrified of Ian's answer.

"You know I do."

"Do I?"

"Yes," Ian says firmly, "Mick, I want you to stay."

Mickey nods, his throat feeling tight, "Good to know."

* * *

"I like reading," Mickey says another time.

"No shit, actually?"

"Shut up," Mickey groans.

"No-no it's great!" Ian says, "I always knew you were smart, Mick."

"Reading doesn't make me smart," Mickey grunts.

"It's exercising your brain or some shit."

"Yeah, yeah."

"What do you like to read?"

"Like... apocalypse shit. Dystopian-whatever."

"Because we're heading there anyway?"

Mickey can't contain the belly laugh that comes out of him, "Exactly!"

* * *

It continues like that. Them sharing details that they haven't told anyone. Ian tells Mickey a lot of stupid shit about his childhood that he remembers, and other things he got up to when Mickey was gone. He hears about Ian's new friends that he met while he was training for his EMT stuff, and Mickey tries not to feel completely jealous of Ian's life seemingly only coming together after Mickey leaves.

Mickey tells Ian random stories from when he was driving around. But he knows they're completely lame, and it's kind of like admitting to Ian that he laid around and pined for months while Ian fixed his shit.

"I haven't told Lip or Fiona that we're talking again," Ian says one week, "They would completely flip their shit and I'm not ready for that."

Mickey snorts, "Yeah?"

"Well, maybe Fiona would be okay. But, Lip's an asshole, so..."

"Yeah, he is," Mickey returns.

"I don't give a shit what they think," Ian says, very seriously, "I just ... want this to be just for me."

"All we're doing is talking," Mickey reminds him.

"I know," Ian agrees, "I just mean - you're special. You're special to me and they'll just ruin this. I don't need that right now."

Mickey's whole face turns red at Ian's words. He's so glad that this isn't a face-to-face conversation.

* * *

Mickey thinks he knows where this shit is heading with Ian. He gets that in some ways, he's kind of leading Ian on and that Ian is most definitely flirting with him. He gets that this talking schtick they have going on will have to end at some point and that Mickey will have to put on his big boy pants and have an actual conversation with Ian.

There's this little nagging part of him that's telling him not to trust Ian again. That it'll all just blow back up in his face, and that all of this work, all of this talking will be for nothing. Mickey will have cracked open his heart and let Ian Gallagher worm his way in once again, only to get nothing in return.

The other part of him, though, has this underlying feeling that this is it. This is the time that they'll finally figure it all out. Ian might actually own up to his shit, and Mickey to his, and they'll fix this, and they'll finally for once just fucking _be together_.

But that would involve Mickey stops being such a fucking pussy and tell Ian he's ready to talk.

* * *

"I'm seeing a therapist," Ian says.

"You told me that already."

"Yeah, but I didn't tell you much about her."

"Her?"

"Yeah, Anne."

"She good?"

"Yeah. We talk things through a lot, which helps."

"Like what?"

"You."

* * *

Ian doesn't know where he stands with Mickey and it's driving him nuts. For a few weeks now they've been talking, but he doesn't know where it's heading. Mickey hasn't made any attempt to want to meet up, and Ian is trying his best to stay patient and do what Mickey asked of him, but he's going absolutely fucking insane.

Talking with Mickey is also getting more and more difficult on his end. School's getting out, so Debbie and Carl are home more often. Lip is going to be moving back into the house this summer (luckily, he hasn't asked for his old room back.)

He can tell that Fiona knows something is up, but Ian's doing a pretty good job at chasing her off the scent. He just tells her he's tired, that he missed out on a few of his morning runs, and his schedule's off. That doesn't really help, though, because then Fiona is off to lecturing him about his routine, and how it's important that Ian sticks to it. But at least she's distracted from Ian's real issue.

Ian's terrified that Mickey is going to turn around one of these days and tell him that he's done. That these conversations they've been having don't mean anything, and that Mickey can't be with him, that Ian's done too much damage. 

And if he's being honest, he's just waiting for that to happen.

* * *

Ian's walking home from Patsy's one afternoon when his phone rings, and it's Mickey. He picks up with a confused, "Hello?"

"Hey," Mickey says, "What's up?"

"It's not our day," Ian replies.

"So fucking what? I wanted to talk to you so I called. What's. Up?"

Ian laughs, "Not a whole lot. I'm just walking home from work."

"The diner, still?"

"Yeah, I fucking hate it," Ian replies with a slight groan.

"Not a fan of scrubbing pans for a living?" Mickey asks.

"Fuck no," Ian says.

"I thought you were gonna be an EM-whatever."

"EMT," Ian corrects, rolling his eyes. Mickey knows exactly what he's studying to be, and they both know it. It's how Mickey flirts. "And I am. Well, hopefully. I'm still studying, I have to take a test in a few weeks."

"Ah," Mickey hums, "What are you doing tonight?"

Ian's heart picks up, "Probably nothing," Ian says, "Probably just looking over my study notes. The usual shit. Do you work tonight?"

"Yeah, working security inside tonight until closing."

Ian deflates slightly. It wasn't an invitation, but a curiosity. But he still says, "I could come visit you sometime."

"It's not really your kinda bar," Mickey replies, way too quickly for Ian's liking. But it isn't necessarily a straight-up no, and his voice is light and flirty, so Ian just plays along.

"No?"

"Nah, there's no shirtless men," Mickey chuckles, "No back rooms to fuck in."

Ian stops in his tracks, his mind reeling for a second. Back rooms. Does Mickey know about him and the back rooms of the Fairy Tail? How the fuck would he have found out about that, and how is he acting so calm about it?

"Back rooms?" Ian croaks out.

"Oh come on, Ian," Mickey laughs, "I know you remember. You brought me to one of the rooms once and we - you know. Remember?"

Ian flushes pink with the memory of that night. He may have been high as a kite, manic as all hell, but he remembers every moment of that kiss in the club with Mickey. How could he not? It was the first time Mickey kissed Ian in public where other people could see and he didn't care.

Ian realizes Mickey isn't talking about him _working_ the back rooms. He calms a bit, but bitter guilt rises in him.

"Yeah," Ian says, voice quiet, "Yeah I remember."

"Did I say something wrong?" Mickey asks, suddenly.

Ian shakes his head, "No, no, it's not you. You just ... reminded me of something."

"Do you wanna tell me?"

"No," Ian laughs, with no humour in his voice. He's at the gate of his house, but he can't go in, "But I need to if this thing we are doing is really all about owning up to our shit."

"The fuck are you talking about Ian?"

Ian lets out a deep breath. He can't believe they were actually getting somewhere a second ago, Mickey flirting with him, possibly trying to invite him out somewhere. And now he has to own up to the one thing that he probably hates the most about himself.

"There's something I need to tell you. And can you just ... promise not to hang up? You can yell at me, cuss me out, do whatever, just please don't hang up yet." Because Ian is so fucking desperate, and he can't lose Mickey over this, it would break him.

"Okay," Mickey says unsteadily.

"I was with other people."

Ian doesn't know how he says it so easily because it's the hardest thing he's ever had to say.

"You told me you haven't slept with anyone since me," Mickey says.

"No, I mean ... before. I was with people."

There's a beat, before Mickey says, "More than just the porno?"

"Yeah," Ian whispers, his voice rough and weak like he's dying as he says it.

"So you cheated on me?" Mickey says, voice sounding the same.

Ian's speechless, he tries to say more, but Mickey interrupts. "You cheated on me. Fucking say it."

Ian can't, "Can I explain?" he's watching the door of his house, terrified someone will exit at any second.

"Say it. Fuck you for making this a fucking puzzle for me to solve on my own," Mickey says, venomous, "Say it."

"I cheated on you," Ian says, and suddenly it's so much worse, "The porno was the furthest I ever went with someone, I promise you I did not fuck anyone else."

"Because that's so much fucking better?" Mickey returns.

"No," Ian says, quickly, "I just mean - they were just guys at the club, for my job, blowjobs in the back room, I got paid." Ian hates himself, he hasn't let himself think about this in months, and he _hates_ himself. Fear is gripping at his chest, and he's struggling to take in his breath. He's starting to panic and he can't control it.

"I fucking knew it," Ian hears Mickey say, but he can't focus on it anymore.

"Fuck," he hisses, "I'm ruining this, I'm fucking ruining it all," he doesn't mean to say it out loud but he can't help it. Ian reaches forward to grip onto the fence in front of him, forcing himself to try to _breathe_. He forces himself to walk through the gate and sit on the bottom step of the porch, even if his family can hear him. He doesn't care, he just can't stand anymore.

"Ian," Mickey says firmly, "Ian listen to me. I knew, okay?"

That pulls Ian out of it slightly, "What?" he pants.

"I think I knew," Mickey explains, "I figured a lot more than just dancing was going on at that place. I just figured, as long as you came home to me that it was okay."

Ian squeezes his eyes shut at the words. How fucked up is that? He hates himself so much, he can't think of _anything_ to say in return. Nothing is okay about this.

"I ain't a saint here either," Mickey pauses, "I screwed around with people, too. While you were out with Monica."

Ian's world crumbles around him, "Oh," is all he can force himself to say.

"You can be angry at me," Mickey says.

"No, Mick, I really can't," Ian whispers.

"Ian."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't hang up," Mickey says, his tone is completely indecipherable, "You get what that means, right?"

Ian pauses again. Does he get what it means? He's still calming down, can still feel his heart beating hard in his chest, "No," he whispers.

He can hear Mickey let out a breath on the other line, "You know," he says, "I used to think that loving you was one of the scariest things in the world. But it wasn't. Loving you is the easiest thing in the world, Ian, and _that's_ what makes it scary. I would do anything for you, anything you wanted me to."

Ian can't think of anything to say.

"Don't you think that's a little fucked up?"

Ian says nothing. And Mickey hangs up.

* * *

When Ian was manic, he wasn't just horny all the time. It was more than that. It was the fact that he was moving fast, his brain in overdrive, constantly changing. And the world around him was slow, and Ian couldn't slow down with it. It was overwhelming, and he had to figure out a way to match the pace.

So that's why he got a job at the club. The lights and the music were fast and loud, and Ian felt like he matched the pace of the world in there, like his brain could calm itself. 

And the sex part of it, well, that started off on accident. At first. 

He worked the bar sometimes, yeah, but he really wanted to dance. He kept asking, kept pleading with his boss at the White Swallow, to just let him dance, that he would be so fucking _good_ at it. Ian blew him to prove a point.

Instead, the guy just sent him to work in the backroom when he wasn't at the bar.

Once he started at the Fairy Tail, Ian figured that he was good at turning tricks. So he kept at it, whether it was by going home with the guys, or in the back room. They kept the world busy, they kept _Ian_ busy when he left the walls of the club and into the quiet streets.

When Mickey showed up again, it was hard for Ian to just stop. They had no money, and Mickey had a baby, and Fiona needed help, too. So he just kept on working.

He thinks that a part of him thought those extra guys he was sleeping with, they were just tricks. Even if Ian didn't accept money from them, Ian told himself they didn't matter if he was with Mickey and fucking around, because Ian loved Mickey, and the other guys were just tricks. Were just part of the job. Part of making the world match his pace.

Or at least, that's what Ian kept telling himself so he didn't rot away with guilt.

Ian should have told Mickey about those guys a long fucking time ago.

"Ian?" he hears Debbie's voice behind him from the door, "What are you doing out here?"

Ian shakes his head, quickly wiping at the tears he feels in the corners of his eyes, "Nothing," he says quickly, turning his head to smile up at Debbie.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," Ian says, standing up and moving past her to head inside, "Totally fine. What's the plan for dinner?"

* * *

> MICKEY to IAN: We can't keep doing this to each other
> 
> IAN to MICKEY: I need to see you  
>  IAN to MICKEY: I cant talk about this stuff without seeing you  
>  IAN to MICKEY: Please Mick. I just wanna talk I swear
> 
> MICKEY to IAN: when?
> 
> IAN to MICKEY: Tonight?
> 
> MICKEY to IAN: I can meet u after work. It'll be late. Where?
> 
> IAN to MICKEY: Meet at mine?
> 
> MICKEY to IAN: yeah

* * *

Mickey finishes his shift around one in the morning and texts Ian to let him know he's on his way. Ian's stomach is flipping like crazy. Their last conversation did not go well. He isn't even sure what else there is to say. But he figures, if it needs to end like this, he needs to at least talk to Mickey in person.

Ian watches from the back door until he sees Mickey approach, and sneaks out quietly to go meet him. It's the first time Ian's seen him since the whole Mandy things. But he still looks good (of course he does) dressed in dark clothing from work.

"You look good," Mickey says, once Ian comes up to him.

Ian shrugs, "No I don't, I'm fat."

Mickey looks at him incredulously, "You are not fucking fat."

"Meds made me gain weight," Ian explains.

"Doesn't mean you're fucking fat."

"They also cause muscle weakness, so I haven't been working out as much."

"Will you shut the fuck up and take the compliment? God you're whiney."

Ian laughs, hands deep in his pockets, "Should we go?"

"Where are we going?" Mickey asks.

"You know where we're going," Ian mumbles, catching Mickey's eye.

Mickey just _hmms_ , his thumb pressing his bottom lip. The fucker knows that drives Ian crazy. Instead of continuing the conversation, Ian begins his walk away from the house, turning around momentarily to make sure Mickey's following him.

They fall into an easy silence, as they head to the dugouts. Ian figures it's the perfect place if this all goes south and Mickey starts yelling at him. It's now or never. If he's going to do this, he needs to lay all his cards out on the table and say what he needs to say.

Ian stops, with Mickey stopping a few steps behind him, and then they're facing each other.

"I'm gonna, like, monologue at you, or whatever," Ian says.

Mickey just stares at him, "The fuck?"

Ian can't help but smile, but shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, "Just shut up and listen. Please?"

He waits for a nod from Mickey before he takes a deep breath.

"I've always wanted you. Looking back I can't remember a time when I didn't want you, all of you, all the time. I was obsessed with you, I probably still am. Just in a less creepy way, I hope?" Mickey laughs at that, and Ian can see him flushing slightly even in the dark, but he doesn't interrupt, so Ian just continues.

"I was patient - as much as I can be. I waited for you for so long. I waited for you to want me back, and to love me, and to - to _kiss me_. I wanted for everything, and maybe near the end I wasn't so patient. I know I push," Ian sighs, "I'm sorry if I ever pushed you too far, or for anything you weren't ready to do."

"I need a push sometimes," Mickey says with a shake of his head, a hand reaching out towards Ian slightly, who steps back. Ian isn't sure he could handle it. If Mickey touched him right now he would lose all train of thought.

"I'm monologuing," Ian reminds him.

"Dude, I don't even know what the fuck that means," Mickey says back.

"Just let me say this. I have about eight months worth of shit to say to you stored up in here," Ian says, tapping his temple. Mickey just rolls his eyes in response.

"So you fucking waited?" Mickey urges him on.

Ian nods, "I waited. And I finally fucking got it. I finally got you, and we were right where I thought we were meant to be the whole time." Ian lets out an unstable breath, "And then what? I fuck it up. I fuck it up over, and over, and over again. And I know maybe not all of it was my fault, but it was all a result of things my brain decided, even if looking back it's not what I wanted.

"Those guys I was with? They meant fucking _nothing_ to me. I was crawling out of my skin all the time, and the only thing I could do was fuck it out, sometimes literally. And... ending it with you - it wasn't something I wanted, but it was something I told myself needed to happen. I never thought you would actually skip town because I'm so fucking selfish. But the point is - I'm just sorry. I'm sorry that I treated you like you were nothing to me," Ian takes a deep breath, "Because you were fucking _everything_ to me."

He hadn't wanted to cry saying this shit to Mickey, but he can't stop what he says next from being choked up, "When the rest of my family was looking at me and seeing Monica, you were the only person who looked and still saw _me._ Underneath all of this shit I don't want, you still chose me and I'll never forget that."

Mickey just stares at him, his face unreadable. Ian hates that, he used to always be able to read how Mickey was feeling, or what he was thinking. This is just nothing, this is just empty.

"I get it now. I've done too much, I've fucked it up too much," Ian says, his throat tightening, "I'll leave you alone now. We can just end it here."

Mickey's brow furrows, but he doesn't say anything.

"Goodbye, Mickey," Ian manages to whisper and turns to walk away.

"In what world was you dumping me a good fucking idea?" Mickey spits out, clearly angry. Ian turns to face Mickey again.

"That's what you fucking got from that?" Ian replies, a bit shocked, "I just ripped my fucking heart out for you, and that's what you have to say?"

"Answer the fucking question, asswipe."

"You're better off without me," Ian says in disbelief. It's the easiest explanation.

"Bullshit," Mickey spits back, "That's bullshit and you fucking know it, Ian. We would have been fine if it wasn't for fucking Sammi, and the army, and your mom. We would have made it through everything, I know it."

"We wouldn't have," Ian knows it, "I hated being on the meds, I was probably going to get off them whether or not Sammi and the army bullshit happened or not."

"I would have gotten you through it!" Mickey yells back, "I would have gotten you to the other side of it."

"And I would have hated you for it!" Ian yells back, throwing his arms out. It's cruel, but there's no other way to say it, "And you would have resented me."

"Not fucking true, Ian," Mickey hisses, turning his back on Ian, a hand going up to rub at his eyes.

"I would have been a burden to you and I wasn't going to sit around and let that happen to us," Ian explains, "I've seen what this disease destroys, Mickey."

Mickey immediately spins back around, "We are not Frank and Monica," pointing a finger at Ian, "You have gotta get that shit out of your head. Stop comparing yourself to your fucking mom, and don't you dare compare me to _Frank_. We are not your fucked up parents, we are never going to be them."

Ian didn't know this was the conversation he was going to be having tonight, and he can't do it. His head is just spinning, so he sits on the ground, back to the wall, pulling his knees to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. He feels movement beside him and opens his eyes to see Mickey sitting beside him, looking straight ahead.

"You don't deserve this," Ian says quietly, gesturing to himself, "I was going to ruin you. I was setting you free from me."

Ian can hear Mickey from what feels like another lifetime, _what you and I have makes me free_.

Mickey just takes a deep breath, "Well, I can tell you that's fucking bullshit. There is nothing you could do that would make you a burden to me."

Ian can only laugh wetly at that, giving Mickey a small, sad smile. Mickey returns it, but both of them know its forced. Both of them know everything is so, so fucked up.

"And as far as who deserves who. Seriously, Ian? Have you met me?" Mickey is trying to joke with him. Ian shakes his head, thinking, _I have. And you're wonderful._

"It's good now," Mickey says, changing the subject, "You're stable."

Ian can't help but let out another painful laugh at that, "Yeah, I'm stable until one of my meds craps out. And maybe that med is my anti-psychotic one, and I don't notice until I'm hearing voices in my head telling me to stop taking the other ones."

No one gets it, he thinks, no one gets that this disease he doesn't want is _forever_ and the only person who has to deal with it forever is him. Everyone can forget about it, but Ian never will.

"I'm never fucking free of it, Mick. I'm on a roller coaster that's only going up until it crashes back down again," he sighs, "Half the time I don't even know why I'm trying to be an EMT, I'll just fuck it up one day."

It's starkly silent. Ian can almost feel Mickey searching, but he knows he has nothing. Ian knows that this is it for them, this is where the line ends. He braces himself for Mickey to say goodbye, to say that he can't do this. He can't sit around and wait for Ian to go manic again, and it's just time they call it quits for real.

Instead, Mickey says, "I love you."

And Ian breaks.

He can't control the tears that immediately come into his eyes, and he can't stop them from pouring over and falling down his face, falling faster than he's able to wipe them away, so he just lets them fall, his chin dropping down to his chest to hide them just a bit.

" _Why_?" he whispers, trying to ignore the crack in his voice.

Mickey moves closer to him, putting a hand on Ian's wrist to keep him there, and just shrugs, "Because you're the only person who ever tried to get to know me. Because you waited. Fuck, because I just do, Ian, I always have."

Ian lets out a breath, trying to get control of himself, "That phone call - I called you right before I went on my meds, I begged you to come back. I told you I loved you," Ian hears Mickey's sharp inhale of breath, "I didn't want to tell you before because I didn't want that to be how I told you. Because I love you, too."

Mickey nods. Ian thinks this should be that moment where they kiss, and come together, and have amazing mind-blowing sex that's reminiscent of all the other times they've had sex before, or whatever. But it's not, Ian's still crying and it's really gross - all snotty, his eyes puffy and red. Instead, he just lets his head fall on Mickey's shoulder, and Mickey places a kiss on his forehead. And they just sit there for a while, until Ian can calm down, and the only thing they can hear is Chicago at night.

* * *

"Stay with me tonight?" Ian asks Mickey, and Mickey has always been bad at saying no to Ian, so he follows him up the steps of the Gallagher house, which his thankfully quiet. Also, thankfully, Mickey discovers that Ian has his own room now. It's not much, Ian has the bed in the corner, a dresser along the wall. He has a nightstand, and the only things on it are a small lamp and his EMT books.

But it's a bed. A bed where Mickey can sleep curled up next to Ian and wake up with him tomorrow. Tha shit beats Mandy's couch any day.

They strip down into their boxers and crawl into bed together. Ian up against the wall, and Mickey on the edge of the bed. They end up on their sides, faces close together, noses almost touching.

Mickey's staring into Ian's eyes, and he can see them fill with tears again. But Mickey thinks he's seen Ian cry too much tonight, so he just grabs at Ian's waist and pulls him closer, pressing a kiss gently to Ian's mouth.

It only makes Ian grab the back of Mickey's head and pull him closer, kissing back. It's not dirty, there's no tongue, it's not rough. It's dry, and maybe even sweet. It doesn't say _let's fuck_ it says _thank god you're here._

When Mickey pulls back, Ian's hand travels to Mickey's temple, his fingers running through Mickey's hair, back and forth. Mickey suddenly feels exhausted, Ian's presence numbing, his fingers in his hair comforting, and he quickly falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Gallavich day! :)


	11. june, cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian wakes up wrapped around Mickey. It takes him a minute or two for his brain to catch up with reality. Mickey is actually here, real, in person, and in Ian's bed.

Ian wakes up wrapped around Mickey. It takes him a minute or two for his brain to catch up with reality. Mickey is actually here, real, in person, and in Ian's bed. Ian pulls his arm tighter around Mickey's waist, pressing his front against Mickey's back, sighing happily, intending to fall right back asleep, but his alarm goes off.

Mickey grumbles from beside him, and Ian huffs out a quiet laugh, reaching across Mickey's sleep-pliant body, basically resting on top of him, to turn off his alarm on the side table.

"What the fuck?" Mickey mumbles.

"Sorry," Ian whispers, "Phone alarm for my meds."

Mickey grumbles, a hand coming up to rub over his eyes sleepily. Fuck, Ian loves him.

Ian stays settled on top of Mickey, gazing down at him with what he knows is a stupid smile on his face. Mickey stops rubbing his face and looks up at Ian.

"What?" he asks.

"Hi," Ian replies.

"Hello?" Mickey says, sarcastic but with a smile.

Ian smiles back, a hand coming up to scratch at the back of Mickey's head, who nuzzles into it slightly and even smiles even fucking brighter. He's on top of the fucking world right now and leans down to kiss Mickey. 

Mickey sighs into Ian's mouth, neither of them caring about morning breath. This is nothing like the dry, quiet kiss they shared last night. This is Ian pulling Mickey closer, Mickey's hands settling on Ian's waist as their mouths slide together. Ian deepens the kiss, pulling Mickey up with the hand on the back of his neck. Their hips slide together, and Mickey rocks up into Ian slightly, sending a thrill down Ian's spine.

He drags his mouth across Mickey's jaw, hot breath on Mickey's neck, kissing down and along his collarbone and to his chest. Ian hears Mickey let out a long breath, like a sigh of relief, as Ian slides his way down Mickey's body, stopping to suck a mark onto the skin of Mickey's stomach.

"Ian," Mickey groans, a hand coming to grip at Ian's shoulder.

Ian continues, biting gently at Mickey's stomach, before setting his intentions lower, pulling slightly at the band of Mickey's boxers and kissing along his hip, feeling Mickey's dick perk slightly in interest.

"Ian," Mickey says again, his hand pulling at Ian's shoulder now, "Wait."

Ian stops, letting out an annoyed huff, and moves to hold himself over Mickey's body, "Are you seriously turning down a blow job right now?"

Mickey laughs like he can't hold it in, "It's just - your meds, you should go take them," he says.

"They can wait a little while, trust me," Ian jokes, pulling his hand over Mickey's shoulder, his fingers brushing over Mickey's bare chest for a moment, before leaning down and kissing him again.

Because he hasn't kissed Mickey in almost seven months, and they seriously need to fix that _immediately._

Mickey lets Ian kiss him for a few minutes, a hand finding it's way into Ian's hair, Mickey's tongue running over Ian's mouth, Ian biting at Mickey's bottom lip as he pulls away. 

"Seriously," Mickey says, pushing at Ian's shoulder again, "Go."

Ian pauses, smirking, "Really?"

"I ain't going nowhere," Mickey says, "You can blow me after," there's a cock glint in his eye that makes a large smile grow over Ian's face.

"Okay," Ian says, "I have to eat with them. Do you want anything?" he asks as he stands up, grabbing his shirt from the ground and pulling it over his head.

"Nah," Mickey says, arms coming and crossing behind his head, watching Ian.

"Okay," Ian says gently, backing out of the room, not wanting to take his eyes off Mickey, "I'll be back."

"I'll be here," Mickey says.

Ian runs down the stairs and into the kitchen, fully intending on making toast as fast as he physically can, not wanting to be away from Mickey for even a moment.

"Mornin'," says Fiona, stopping Ian in his tracks. Fuck, he thought everyone would be out at work already, but Fiona must start later this morning. He blinks and then notices Lip sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, who gives him a sleepy wave. Right. Lip's back from school now.

"Morning," Ian returns, trying to play it cool. He really thought everyone would be out, and he doesn't want to let them know Mickey is upstairs.

Ian walks over and puts toast in the toaster, before going and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Did you sleep well?" Fiona asks as Ian reaches up into the top cupboard to find where he stores his meds.

"Yeah," he replies.

"Are you seriously going to act like Mickey Milkovich isn't in your bed right now?" Fiona asks. Ian freezes. Lip chokes on his coffee over at the table.

"What?" Lip spits.

"Uh," Ian doesn't know what to say.

"I popped my head in your room this morning to see if you came home last night," Fiona says, her expression totally unreadable, "And I saw you two. Wanna explain that?"

Ian's speechless. He knows when he's been caught out and there's no way he can talk his way out of this one. Mickey is literally upstairs and his family is not above storming into his room to get the proof they need, and Ian really doesn't want to do that to Mickey right now. Ian doesn't want Mickey to even hear this conversation.

"Since when was he even back in town, Ian?" Lip asks, incredulously, standing up from the table and walking over to the island counter.

"Since I saw Mandy," Ian mumbles.

"That was fucking _weeks_ ago, Ian!" Lip yells, "What the hell?"

"Keep your fucking voice down," Ian hisses back.

Lip just laughs in disbelief. Fiona gently places a hand on Ian's arm, and he knows it's supposed to be a comforting gesture, but all it does is piss him off.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Fiona asks.

"I was just trying to figure it all out," Ian explains, shrugging off Fiona's hand, "This - last night was the first time we saw each other in weeks, we've just been talking."

"Talking," Lip parrots back.

"Yes, talking. On the phone."

"Since when do you and Mickey fucking _talk?"_

"Okay!" Fiona cries, trying to move in between Lip and Ian, even though there's already a literal counter between them. "Ian, we just wanna make sure you're okay. This is a big thing to keep hidden from us."

Ian shrugs, moving away from Fiona. He's so fucking done with this conversation and it hasn't even started. 

"You were a mess after Mickey left all those months ago, we don't want you to have to go through anything like that again," Fiona continues.

Fury rises so quickly in Ian that it's hard to keep his mouth shut. He fills up his coffee cup with a shaking hand. There were a _lot_ of reasons why he was a mess a few months ago.

But Fiona keeps pushing, "Are you sure being with Mickey is the right thing for you right now?" she asks, at least having the decency to keep her voice down.

"You still have no fucking clue, do you?" Ian spins on Fiona, glaring back at his siblings, "Mickey is one of the only things I'm sure about right now. He's probably the only thing I've _ever_ been sure about."

"Ian-"

"No, Fiona," Ian shakes his head, "You guys don't get a fucking say in this. If I want to be with Mickey - and let me make this very clear to both of you: I want to be - then I am going to be with him."

"Ridiculous," Lip mutters, going to sit back down.

"What is ridiculous about this?" Ian laughs, "You guys act like this is the weirdest thing to ever happen. But, Fiona, you dated a guy with _multiple names_ and stole cars for a living, among many other illegal activities, and Lip, your girlfriend fucked _Frank_ and pretended to have your baby, and you _both_ stayed with them!"

And yeah, maybe that was the wrong thing to say because Lip basically stands up so fast that the chair slams hard against the floor that Ian is surprised it doesn't break. His face is angry and red, and Fiona's is sad and defeated. Ian probably struck one too many chords with that statement. 

No one makes a move to say anything, so Ian gives up. He grabs his toast, throws it on a plate, quickly slathering some butter on it.

"Me and Mickey are happening," Ian says, grabbing his shit, "You guys are going to have to figure out a way to accept that."

* * *

When Ian gets back to his room, Mickey is sitting on the edge of the bed fully dressed. Downstairs he hears a door slam and figures Lip must have stormed out.

"What are you doing?" Ian asks, pausing as the bedroom door closes behind him.

"I don't wanna cause shit with you and your family," Mickey says, "I should go."

"No," Ian says, rushing to set everything in his hands down, kneeling between Mickey's legs, "Don't go. Please?"

Mickey sighs.

"Unless you have to," Ian explains, "But if you're trying to leave because you think I want you to, then you're so wrong."

"Yeah?"

Ian nods, "Yes. And look..." he gets up, drawing Mickey's attention before putting his pills in the palm of his hand, showing them to Mickey and swallowing them with a swig of his coffee, "All gone."

Mickey stands up, and moves into Ian's space, "You don't have to show me."

"Yes I do," Ian whispers, wrapping his arms around Mickey's waist and pulling Mickey flush against him, "Don't go."

Mickey laughs this time, "Okay."

Ian smiles, relief rushing over him. _This is going to work,_ he tells himself, _I am going to fight to make this work._

"Eat your toast," Mickey says, pulling away from Ian and grabbing the plate where it had been set down and handing it to Ian.

Ian goes and settles back down on the bed, taking a bite of his toast. Mickey can see Ian slowly watching him, so to prove a point, Mickey takes off his jeans and climbs back into the bed next to Ian, who smiles to himself.

"So," Mickey mumbles, "Good to know your family still hates me."

"Fuck them," Ian says, mouth full, "I don't care what they think."

"Yeah, I kinda do, though," Mickey says, focusing on his hands. He sees Ian pause and swallow.

"They will," Ian insists, "They never got to know you. Know _us._ "

Mickey nods, he hopes that's true. He doesn't fucking need Ian's siblings to like him, but knowing that they don't think he's right for Ian fuels too many existing insecurities for him to handle right now. It's shit to know he's not the only person thinking it.

Ian reaches across Mickey's body again and sets the half-eaten plate of toast on the side table, before swinging his leg over Mickey's body and settling down in his lap.

"There is an 'us,'" Ian says, fingers running across Mickey's chest, up to his collarbone, "Right?"

"Don't be fucking stupid," Mickey says and kisses him.

Ian kisses him back, quick and gentle, before pulling back, "Good answer."

Mickey rolls his eyes, hands settling on Ian's hips, rubbing his hands up and down Ian's thighs, "I mean we still got shit to talk about, probably," he says, "But we can figure that out later."

"Yeah," Ian says, shifting intently on Mickey's lap, "Later."

They meet in the middle, Mickey wrapping his arms fully around Ian's waist and pulling him in, stretching up to meet Ian's mouth. Ian's hands tangle again in Mickey's hair, pulling slightly the way he remembers Mickey likes.

Mickey smiles against Ian's mouth, pulling back ever so slightly, "What was all that shit about you blowing me?" Mickey asks, smugly. He loves the way Ian smirks back at him.

"What if I changed my mind now?" Ian asks, rocking his hips on Mickey's lap.

Mickey laughs and quickly flips the two of them over so that he's leaning over Ian's body, Ian laying flat on his back against the bed. Mickey's got his arms on either side of Ian's head.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Mickey says, leaning down to kiss him again, tongue sliding along Ian's bottom lip, and Ian opening up for him immediately. Their tongues slide together, and Ian sighs into Mickey's mouth.

Mickey draws his lips across Ian's jaw, pressing a kiss along with it, nosing Ian's cheek, dragging his tongue behind Ian's ear and sucking a mark there. Ian lets out a shaky breath, his hands tightening in Mickey's shirt, pulling it up slightly so he can get his hands underneath it and on Mickey's skin.

Mickey pulls Ian closer, begins kissing down his neck, sucking, and biting, causing Ian to let out a gasp. Ian bruises like fucking peach, it takes weeks for marks to fade, and Mickey knows it.

"What are you doing?" Ian asks, breathless.

"Spent months with you working at that prissy ass club where I couldn't mark you up," Mickey mumbles against his skin, nosing underneath Ian's jaw, "So now that's what I'm going to do."

Ian chuckles lowly, the sound deep in his throat, it turns into a sigh as Mickey begins to kiss down his neck once again. Mickey pulls at the neck-line of Ian's shirt, starts pulling up the hem with his hands.

"Wait," Ian says, grasping at Mickey for a moment. He hasn't been shirtless in _months_ , hasn't liked to look in the mirror and see his body changing.

"You look so fucking good, Ian," Mickey groans, "Trust me," Ian lets him pull off his shirt, throwing it to the ground. Mickey trails his mouth across Ian's chest, stopping at a nipple and laving his tongue over it, sucking and biting. Ian pushes up into Mickey's mouth, his hand coming to grip in Mickey's hair as he sucks again.

Mickey's mouth is everywhere, sliding hot across Ian's chest, down to his stomach, his hips jerking up every so often, trying to get some sort of friction. Mickey is pulling at Ian's boxers, his mouth so fucking close, his hand comings up and he gives Ian a firm squeeze through the cloth.

"Fuck," Ian whispers, as Mickey kisses along the top hem of his boxers, his hand slowly moving across Ian's dick, "Fuck, fuck," he's gasping, his free hand clenching on the bedsheets.

"You doing okay up there?" Mickey asks, teasingly.

Ian laughs, so breathless, so fucking turned on, "Doing so fucking great, now suck my dick."

"Aye, aye," Mickey returns, pulling Ian's boxers down to his thighs, and sinking his mouth down Ian's length. _Fuck_. Ian's hips jerk up slightly, but Mickey's arm comes across his stomach to hold Ian down, as he starts to bob his head.

"Shit," Ian hisses, "Mickey, so fucking good."

Mickey hums, hollowing his cheeks and sucking Ian down. The hot, wet heat and so fucking good. Ian moans Mickey lets his hips fuck up into his mouth in a few strokes, Ian's hand staying buried in the back of Mickey's head, messing up his hair even more. God, as much as he missed Mickey's presence these last few months, Ian would be a fucking idiot if he didn't say he missed Mickey doing _this_. Sucking him down so good. Ian can't wait to return the favour.

He feels himself getting too close, too soon, "Wait," he says gently, breathing heavily, "Gonna come - don't wanna..."

Mickey pulls off, crawling over Ian's body again, who pulls him in for another deep kiss, Mickey groaning into Ian's mouth. Ian flips them over again. He needs Mickey naked, needs him naked right now. It's a jumble of hands as they pull down Mickey's boxers, and rid him of his shirt so that he's finally naked and completely stretched out underneath Ian.

"Do you-" Mickey pants, "Do you have anything?"

Ian lets out a breath, "Probably fucking no," he reaches into his bedside table, searching in the drawer. He's able to pull out a thing of lube, but there's nothing else, "Shit."

Mickey raises an eyebrow, "You weren't joking about the not fucking any one thing," he says.

"You thought I was lying?" Ian asks, he can't help but feel just a little offended.

Mickey shakes his head, "No," running a hand along Ian's hip again, "We probably shouldn't - no condoms," he mumbles. This whole thing is probably really fucking stupid. They haven't been together in months, and who even knows who Mickey has been with. Ian never got himself tested after working at the club. (Repression of his actions at their finest - he should probably sort through that shit.)

"I always wore a condom," Ian says quickly, his chest filling with guilt for a moment, "Except for..."

"Let's not fucking talk about that right now, yeah?" Mickey says, mumbling a, "C'mere," and pulling Ian into another kiss.

Ian kisses back, letting his hands roam down Mickey's now naked body, up and down his waist, his thighs, hands coming up and gripping MIckey's ass, pulling them flush together. Their hard dicks rubbing against each other. He won't let this be ruined by his own fucking brain. He reaches to open the lube, pouring some out and pumping his hand on Mickey's dick.

"Fuck," Mickey says, thrusting up into Ian's hand, "Ian..."

"We don't have to fuck," Ian whispers, "We can - we can wait. Get tested-"

"Shut up," Mickey groans, causing Ian to laugh slightly before it turns into a startled gasp. Mickey thrusts up against Ian, his slick cock rubbing sweetly against Ian's, who pulls at Mickey's hip, pulling him closer.

Ian's able to worm his hand down to his own stomach, rubbing the rest of the lube onto it, and grabs at MIckey's leg, hooking it up around his hip and thrusts down against him. Mickey lets out a moan, his head falling back on Ian's pillow.

"Jesus," Ian mutters as they rut smoothly against each other. Mickey's dick is rubbing along Ian's stomach, Ian's nestled against Mickey's hip as they move together. Mickey thrusting his hips in time with Ian moving his.

Mickey brings his other leg around Ian's waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Ian brings his mouth back to Mickey and they kiss and move together, desperate hands gripping at each other's skin, muffled groans fall through the air. Mickey pulls away from Ian's mouth, and buries his face into Ian's neck, biting at the skin there.

Ian lets out a low groan and comes first, Mickey surrounding him through it. Mickey follows not too long after, and Ian collapses on him. Both of them spent.

* * *

Mickey wakes up on his stomach, face pressed firmly into the pillow. When he opens his eyes, Ian's sitting next to him, back in his boxers, with a large book in his hands.

Mickey grunts as he flips over onto his back, pulling Ian's attention.

"Good morning," Ian says, smiling.

"What time is it?"

"Only around noon," Ian says, "I thought I would let you sleep."

Mickey rubs at his eyes, "You didn't?"

Ian shakes his head, "Sleeping after taking my meds always makes me feel gross," he says, "I opted for some good ol' fashioned studying instead."

"Fuckin' nerd," Mickey says.

"You hungry?" Ian asks.

Mickey nods, "What's on the menu?"

Ian shrugs, "Whatever you want. Toast, pancakes."

"The house is empty?" Mickey asks, unsure if he really wants a confrontation with any of Ian's family.

Ian nods, "All at school, work, or I've pissed them off so much they're ignoring me."

Mickey snorts, "Great."

They two of them get up, hopping through the shower quickly, where Ian delivers his promise of a blowjob, then leaves Mickey to clean up. When Mickey gets down to the kitchen, Ian's there, flipping pancakes with another pot of coffee made for Mickey to enjoy.

They eat together in calm silence, sharing a large plate of pancakes, Mickey sipping away at his coffee. It's quiet and peaceful, and everything Mickey has been missing (though he's still afraid to admit it out loud.)

Ian's cleaning up the kitchen, Mickey sitting at the table when he asks, "What do you want to do now?"

Ian shrugs, "When do you work?"

"I mean..." Mickey trails off, "The 'us' thing, Ian. What do you want to do now?"

Ian stops, and dries off his hands with a towel, "I want to be with you."

Mickey nods, flushing a bit, "I want to be with you, too, but there's probably way more shit that we need to talk about."

"We can talk about it and be together," Ian says, moving over to the table and sitting in a chair beside Mickey, "What do you want to know?"

"What happened when I was gone?" Mickey asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Mickey pauses, trying to figure out how he wants to broach the subject, "You told me you were a mess after I left, and this morning your sister said the exact same thing. What do you mean?"

Ian sucks in a breath and sits up in the chair. It makes Mickey's heart start to pound, every one of Mickey's worst thoughts he had about what Ian could be doing come back to his mind.

"You can tell me," Mickey says, reaching over and taking Ian's hand.

"It's nothing ... super bad," Ian assures him, squeezing Mickey's hand back, "It was just ... not good?" Ian laughs like he always does when he's uncomfortable and afraid to admit something, "I was in bed for weeks, at least that's what Fiona told me, I don't really remember it.

"I got on my meds after that. And I thought it was working, but I was just ... really fucking angry all the time. At you, at my family, mostly at myself. And we found out that my meds were kind of ... off, not the right balance, I don' know."

Mickey nods, urging Ian to continue.

"I was in the hospital," he says, fear immediately wrapping itself around Mickey's heart, "I witnessed this car crash, and I pulled a woman from the burning wreckage of her car-"

"You a fucking superhero now?" Mickey asks, aiming for light and jokey.

Ian rolls his eyes with a small smile, "Couldn't let her explode in front of my face, could I?" Anyway - I was in the hospital because of that, smoke inhalation and whatnot but..." Ian stops, eyes downcast.

"Tell me," Mickey says.

“I’m not suicidal,” Ian says, firmly, “But I had a fight with Lip and Fiona that night. Mostly Lip. I stormed off and I ended up on the Central Ave bridge and - it’s hard to explain how I was feeling. I was angry and upset, and I missed you _so fucking much,_ and I thought of my mom, and what she felt like, and I just stood up on the side of the bridge.”

Mickey wants to puke.

“I just wanted to feel the wind,” Ian explains softly, looking straight into Mickey’s eyes, “That’s all. But it was caught on tape and the police mentioned it to the doctors, so they held me back for a bit. I got new medication, and I started with the EMT stuff, and ... here I am.”

"Here you are," Mickey whispers.

Ian scoots himself closer to Mickey on his chair, "I also ... I want you to know I'm going to get tested like I said," he says, "I don't think there's anything wrong. I was doing stupid shit, but I was usually safe."

"Except for the porno," Mickey reminds him, unable to meet Ian's eyes, hating that he even has to bring it up.

"Yeah," Ian lets out a long breath.

"I'll get tested, too," Mickey says, "I was ... I was fucking around a lot when I was gone."

Mickey watches Ian swallow that information and nods.

“Where are you going to live?” Ian asks, “You can’t stay on Mandy’s couch forever.”

“I don’t know, man, I’ll figure something out.”

“You could stay here,” Ian says.

“I don’t know,” Mickey says, “I think it might be better for us to ... live apart for the first while.”

Ian nods, “Okay.”

“We’ve always moved pretty fast, y’know,” Mickey says, “It might be nice to... live apart, stay over at each other’s houses, go-go out for fucking dinner.”

A large goofy smile forms on Ian’s face, “You wanna have sleepovers? Take me on dates?”

Mickey feels his face burning, “Yes, asshole. I do.”

Ian still has that smile on his face, moving into Mickey’s space and kissing him quick, pulling him into a hug where he buries his face in Mickey’s neck, breathing him in.

“I love you, Mickey,” Ian says against Mickey’s neck.

Mickey’s hand comes and grips at the back of Ian’s head, he presses a kiss to Ian’s temple, and they sit there for a moment, just holding each other.

Jesus, when did Mickey turn into a fucking sap?

* * *

Mickey doesn't stay much longer after that. He has to get back to Mandy's so he can work, so he helps Ian finish cleaning up, and they make out against the cupboards in the kitchen, and then on the couch for a while, before he's finally able to peel himself away and head back.

He stops in front of Kev and V's house, though. Because there are two benefits of coming to visit Ian. Mickey walks up the porch steps and knocks on the door. Svetlana answers, Yevgeny on her hip.

"Fuck do you want? Svetlana asks.

"Nice to fuckin' see you too, bitch," Mickey says with a smile.

"I have nothing to say to you until you talk to Orange Boy," she spits back, trying to close the door in his face.

"Where the fuck do you think I just came from?" Mickey throws back. Svetlana pauses, before opening the door wider.

“Come in.”

Mickey can’t help but laugh as he strides past her, taking Yev and walking into the Ball’s living room and sitting down on the couch. He’s floating on cloud fucking nine right now. He has Ian, he has his kid, and he just got to blindside Svetlana. All in a good day's work if you ask him.

“You and Ian?” Svetlana asks, sitting down beside Mickey. It occurs to Mickey that this might be the first time he has ever heard Svetlana address Ian by his actual name.

Mickey nods, bouncing Yev on his knee, “Yeah. Me and Ian.”

Svetlana nods, settles onto the other side of the couch, watching Mickey and Yev together. It’s as far as approval that Mickey will get from her, but for some reason, it actually means something to him.

“Mickey Milkovich!” Kevin cries, Mickey looking up to see Kevin Ball coming down the winding stairs of his house, “As I live and breath. What’s up, man?”

Mickey stands up again, Svetlana taking Yev from him as he goes to greet Kev, who slaps a hand against Mickey’s shoulder. He’s surprised but actually happy to see Kev. The guy is a goddamn fucking idiot, but Mickey kinda likes him. (He would never say that to his face, though.)

“Back in town,” Mickey shrugs, “Stayin’ out of trouble as much as possible.”

Kev laughs, “Well, welcome home, dude. Are you back at your place?”

Mickey shakes his head, “Fuck no, my pop apparently has been back.”

Mickey sees Svetlana shift uncomfortably from where she’s sitting with Yevgeny. Maybe she didn’t know.

“Where are you staying?”

“At my sister Mandy’s place,” Mickey says, “Just crashing on her couch for now.”

Kev shakes his head, “That’s no place to live, man.”

“Well I can’t fucking go home can I?” Mickey says, “Couch surfing might not be fun, but it sure beats getting shanked in my sleep.”

Kev appears to be thinking for a second, “Hey, well, the rub n’ tug room is open.”

“Pardon fucking me?” Mickey spits.

“Above the Alibi, the room up there is still cleared out. There’s beds, some furniture - we cleaned it up for V when, well, she stayed up there a bit. But you could crash there if you want.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’d have to talk to V about it, but we could work out some sort of rent thing, bring a little extra money for the bar. Right, Lana?”

Svetlana nods, “Why not? You would be closer to watch baby,” she says, smugly. Mickey throws her the finger.

He looks between them, “What about my fucking dad? He’s always at the Alibi.”

“Not recently,” Kev says, “I haven’t seen him since you came out, dude. I think he’s avoiding the place now. And if he does come around, I give you full permission to shoot that Nazi in the face.”

Like Mickey needs  _ permission _ to want to shoot his fucking dad.

“I couldn’t pay a lot,” Mickey says, “I don’t have a whole lot to my fuckin’ name.” He’s been throwing Mandy some of the money he’s been making at the bar. She never wants to take it, but Mickey always leaves it in her room when 

“That’s okay,” Kev says, “We’ll work it out. I’ll talk to V and we’ll see what we can do. Hey, maybe you can work the bar for us sometime!”

This sounds fucking crazy to Mickey. There’s no way his life could work out like this. Like he would have a place to live away from his crazy family, close to Ian, close to Svetlana and the kid.

“That would be fucking great,” Mickey admits, scratching at the back of his head, “Just - uh - lemme know, man.”

Kev nods, smiling brightly, “We’ll say it’s thanks for bringing Lana into our lives. We never would have met her if your dad didn’t you to marry her.” 

“Thanks,” Mickey grunts, feeling less grateful now.

Svetlana laughs, standing up from the couch and handing Yevgeny to him, pressing a kiss to Mickey’s cheek. Mickey pulls Yev close and tries to process everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.

It all feels so fucking surreal.

* * *

Ian spends the rest of the day in a strange, happy fog. He studies more for his EMT test (which was coming up pretty soon) but finds it so hard to focus. He has Mickey, he  _ has him back _ , it’s quite literally everything he’s wanted for months.

He knows this time everything is just going to work. He’s doesn’t believe or God, or destiny, or any of that stupid shit, but he can feel it in his bones that this time with Mickey is forever. He feels fucking fifteen again. Like when he was certain Mickey was the guy for him.

Fiona comes back from work with Liam in tow, who immediately runs upstairs to his room, to do whatever it is that Liam does. Fiona stops in front of Ian, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” they say at the same time. Ian stands and goes to her, hugging Fiona, who brings him in tightly, her hand coming to the back of Ian’s head, comfortingly.

“Ian I just -” her voice breaks, “I just want you to be happy. I just want you to be okay.”

“I will be. I am,” he mumbles into her shoulder.

“I like Mickey,” she says, pulling away to look Ian in the face, who just scoffs at her comment, “No, Ian, I do! He was the one who was looking after you while you were really sick, he was the one who got you to go to the psych ward.”

Ian nods, “I know.”

“But he was also the one who left when you were going down again,” Fiona says, Ian moves to interrupt, but she keeps talking, “And I know you may have given him a good fucking reason, but I can’t get it out of my fucking head - how you looked right after he went. It was horrible to see you like that, Ian.”

It’s barely been a year since he was diagnosed. He wants to tell Fiona that there will probably be worse things to come, knowing this disease, but he doesn’t.

“But if you trust him,” Fiona says, squeezing at Ian’s shoulders, “Then I do. ‘Cause I trust you, Ian.”

Ian lets out a sigh of relief, hugging Fiona again, “Thank you,” he says. He’s so fucking glad he can put this to rest, at least with Fiona.

“By the way,” Fiona says, hugging Ian tight, “Nice fucking hickey,” she says directly into his ear, playfully shoving Ian away. He laughs, hand going up to the marks he knows is down his neck, his whole face going red but with a bright smile on his face. 

Fiona laughs with him, giving his arm a squeeze before she heads up the stairs. Ian deflates a bit when Lip walks in. Jesus, it’s like they timed this shit or something.

First verse, same as the first. They both pause, not knowing what to say.

This time, Ian speaks first, “Look, I’m sorry. I went too far.”

Lip holds up a hand, “Water under the bridge, man,” he says, “Seriously. That shit happened a long time ago, I’ve moved on.” Ian nods. He knows what Lip really means: drop it and never mention it again, and you’re forgiven. 

“Maybe you should, too,” Lip says, “I get that you think you belong with Mickey or something, but when has it ever worked out for the two of you?”

Ian groans. This would have been way easier if Fiona and Lip had just come home at the same time. He goes to sit down on the couch, he feels exhausted.

“When have we ever had a proper fucking chance?” Ian returns, “There’s always been  _ something _ . Whether it was his dad, or fucking Frank, or my fucking illness.”

Lip shakes his head, sitting down with Ian, “I don’t fucking get it, man. What is it about Mickey?”

“I love him.”

Lip freezes, turning his head to look Ian directly in the eye. Ian sees something there, like a realization, that he’s never seen before.

“How is it that simple?” Lip asks.

Ian shrugs, “It is and it isn’t. But I love him, Lip, I’ve loved him since I was a fucking kid. I thought it would change, but it hasn’t. I love him, and he loves me, and we’re here. Why fucking waste it?”

He and Lip sit there in silence, Lip eventually settling down into the couch, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it, the two of them passing it back and forth. It’s an unspoken agreement, just like the one they had when Lip first walked in. Lip won’t say shit.

“You look like he fucking ate you alive, man,” Lip mumbles eventually. 

Ian just laughs, punching Lip in the shoulder.

* * *

Later that night, everyone is home sitting around the dinner table, eating shitty spaghetti that Fiona whipped up like a real family.

“Is Mickey coming around?” Fiona asks very casually.

“Yo, Mickey’s back?!” Carl asks, when Ian just nods in response, Carl fist bumps him and says, “Fuck yeah, that’s my man!”

“Oh my god!” Debbie gasps, standing up and running over to Ian’s side of the table, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug, “That’s so great! I’m so fucking excited!”

“Mickey!” Liam cries, throwing spaghetti fucking everywhere.

From somewhere in the living room, Frank groans, “Shut the fuck up!” but they all ignore it.

Ian can’t wipe the smile from his face, “He works tonight. But he’ll probably stop by tomorrow.”

Because this is going to fucking  _ work. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nervous about this chapter for some reason (it's also the longest chapter yet) so I really hope you guys like it. There was a lot of stuff to wrap up so I just hope I did it justice.
> 
> also, just one more chapter left, aaaaaah!
> 
> thank you to each and every one of you who takes the time to read these updates.


	12. august (an epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Happy Birthday,” Ian says.
> 
> Mickey groans, “Don’t fucking start.”

Mickey moved into the apartment above the Alibi. There had been some stuff left up there (apparently V had spent a few weeks living there this past year). It isn't the best place, but Mickey has lived in worse.

He met up with Iggy when his dad was out of town for a run and was able to grab some of the shit he had left behind. Clothes, books, some of Ian's crap that had been left there. He didn't take too much - too afraid his dad would notice if any furniture went missing, and he really didn't want to give Terry an excuse to come after him more than the guy already does.

Instead, he and Ian take Iggy's car up to the dump and they're able to pay a guy to let them take anything they want. They find stuff like chairs, a table, an old bed frame, and bring it back to the Gallagher's backyard where Mickey spends the next few weeks fixing it up. 

There's no kitchen in the place, but it doesn't really matter because he eats at Ian's most nights anyway.

Mickey quit his job at the bar downtown, it got to be too much to travel back and forth from the Southside whenever he worked. He started working the Alibi at night whenever Kev and V wanted to be home with Svet and the kids (which was most of the time.) It wasn't so bad. They were right, his dad never came by, Mickey got to make fun of the drunk fucks, and Ian usually came and studied in the corner.

Ian passed his EMT test with flying colours, just like Mickey fucking knew he would. The look on Ian's face when he found out was probably the best thing Mickey had ever experienced, followed closely by the celebratory sex they had afterwards.

He started doing his training. There was a slight blip with this bullshit rule about not being able to be an EMT if you had been hospitalized (Ian threw a fucking fit, panicking that he'd wasted months of his life thinking he had something planned out, but Mickey manages to talk him down.) They managed to bypass that fuckery pretty quickly, though, and now they were on a roll, things were moving along just fine.

Mickey was working most nights at the Alibi, Ian was doing onsite training. They were making friends, Ian introduced Mickey to these two guys Ian knew through the EMT stuff, Jason and Phil and their kids. Ian started to make friends at his job, and Mandy started coming by more often.

For the first few weeks, Mickey felt like he was waiting for the other ball to drop. Like something was going to come up and the rug was going to get pulled out from under them, just like it always does. But eventually things settled, and it was just really fucking good.

Ian would stay at Mickey's some nights, other times after closing up the Alibi, Mickey would walk over to the Gallaghers and crawl into bed beside Ian, wrapping an arm around his waist, and snuggling himself down into Ian's warm skin.

So, yeah, Mickey really didn't have much to be worried about.

* * *

Mickey walks up into his apartment after closing the Alibi for the night. It's close to 2 in the morning and he's ready to fucking crash. He knows Ian is up there, he came in a few hours ago after he had finished work and grabbed Mickey's key from him. He's prepared to sneak quietly into the apartment to find Ian sleeping, but he's sitting up on Mickey's bed.

"Happy Birthday," Ian says.

Mickey groans, "Don't fucking start."

Ian ignores him, reaching to the bedside table where there is a beer sitting, and twists off the cap. He gets up and hands the beer to Mickey. It's still cold. The fucker planned this shit, it makes something warm form in the bottom fo Mickey's stomach.

"I wanted to be the first one to say it," Ian whispers, wrapping an arm around Mickey's waist and pressing a kiss to Mickey's cheek, "I love you, and I'm happy you were born."

"Shut up," Mickey says, taking a swig of the beer, but he kisses Ian quick anyway, "Your sleeping schedule, man, you shouldn't be up this late," Mickey complains. He can't help but fucking worry all the time about Ian, even though he knows Ian's doing just fine.

"I set an alarm," Ian says with a smile, "Fell asleep at 10, woke up about fifteen minutes ago."

"Yeah, okay, old man," Mickey grumbles, taking another drink, "This my gift?" he asks, lifting the bottle.

"You told me you didn't want anything," Ian says, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't," Mickey replies, he takes another long drink of the beer before setting it down and starting to remove his clothes for bed, "So you better not be planning something."

"Like?" Ian urges.

"Like one of your stupid fucking Gallagher parties," Mickey says, sliding under the covers. Fuck it feels good to lie down.

Ian slides in next to Mickey, his chin on Mickey's chest, "I don't have anything planned," Ian whispers, pressing a kiss to Mickey's sternum, "Promise."

Mickey grunts in response, his eyes closed.

"I do have some fun planned, though," Ian mumbles.

"Oh yeah?" Mickey says, one eye opening.

"Mhm," Ian smiles, he leans up to kiss Mickey, soft and slow, a little dirty, "But not tonight."

"Good," Mickey says, "Cuz no offence, but I wouldn't be able to stay awake."

Ian laughs quietly, reaching over to turn the light off, and snuggles himself up ext to Mickey, head cradled against Mickey's neck, his on Mickey's shoulder.

"Ian?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you too," Mickey mumbles, feeling himself drooping off.

He can feel Ian's mouth pulling into a smile, a kiss being pressed to his shoulder.

* * *

Birthdays in the Milkovich house weren’t really something that was celebrated. There weren’t any parties, or well wishes, or presents - unless one of his brothers stole him something, like a hot wheel, but even then he had to hide it so Terry wouldn’t see and ask where he got it.

If a birthday was a celebration, it was mostly just celebrating that he managed to stay alive another year.

For the longest time, Mickey would never tell anyone when his birthday was. If they asked, he refused to tell, if they demanded to know, Mickey punched them in the face, simple as that.

Ian didn’t even know when his birthday was until the summer after he got out of juvie (the first time.) Ian had walked into the Milkovich house one afternoon to hang out with Mandy, who spilled the fucking beans. 

“It’s your birthday?” Ian had asked. Mickey glared daggers in Mandy’s direction.

“No,” he had said, while Mandy said, “Yes.”

“He doesn’t like his birthday,” Mandy explained.

“Why?” Ian asked.

“Because it doesn’t mean anything. Seventeen years ago I was squeezed out of a vagina, who the fuck gives a shit?”

Later that night, after Ian had fucked him up against a wall in the dugouts and they were sharing a smoke, Ian had said, “I give a shit that you were born today. Just so you know.” Mickey had punched him in the arm in response.

So Mickey figured it wasn’t a surprise to Ian when, weeks ago, Mickey told Ian that he didn’t want a fucking party, or any presents, or a big deal to be made about anything. He was turning 20, so fucking what? At least he was out of the shitty ass teens, maybe then people would start taking him seriously.

Ian promised Mickey that there would be no parties, but he insisted on booking the day off and spending the day together.

“It’s still your birthday,” Ian insisted, “No presents, no party, but you’re with me. I want to be with you on your birthday.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my fucking boyfriend, what other reason do I need?”

* * *

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Mickey groans, his hips thrusting up into Ian’s mouth as Ian sucks him in deeper, hotter, wetter. This is how Ian woke him up and he honestly isn’t complaining, not one bit.

Ian pulls off him with a wet pop, running his tongue around the head of Mickey’s cock, kissing down the side, and up his stomach. Ian crawls up Mickey’s body, and Mickey buries his hands in Ian’s hair, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Ian pulls away, moving to suck a mark underneath Mickey’s jaw, “Do you want me to fuck you?” Ian whispers into Mickey’s ear, “Or do you want to fuck me?”

That perks Mickey’s attention. They haven’t done  _ that _ in a  _ long _ time. Only ever doing it a handful of times. The first time when Ian snuck into Mickey’s room while studying with Mandy, the second time when Mickey had a healing gunshot wound on his ass, and the third during that summer Ian was manic. 

“Really?” Mickey says.

“Your birthday,” Ian mumbles, “Whatever you want.”

Mickey laughs, a hand running down Ian’s back and gripping onto Ian’s ass, squeezing through the fabric of Ian’s boxers.

“How ‘bout you fuck me now, and I fuck you later?” Mickey suggests, grinding his hips up into Ian’s, feeling Ian’s hard dick through the fabric.

Ian lets out a breath, a smile still on his face, “A two for one deal?”

“My birthday,” Mickey says, smugly, “Whatever I want, right?.”

Ian’s laugh was music to Mickey’s ears, it beats that shitty happy birthday song any day.

* * *

They have a slow day. By all accounts, it wasn’t different than any other day they managed to spend together. Which is probably why (at least in Mickey’s book) it was perfect.

Ian had made Mickey breakfast (pancakes, eggs, bacon - made on a hotplate) and they ate it in bed together, just talking about work, about their families (more so Ian’s, lets keep it honest.) 

Ian didn’t even wish him another happy birthday like he had the night before, even stopped mentioning Mickey’s birthday, really. He just watched Mickey out of the corner of his eye, would kiss him more often, touch him more. Micky definitely wasn’t complaining, he loves it when Ian is all over him.

Around dinner time, Ian gets a call from Lip saying there’s an emergency family meeting at his house. He’s pissed, and he argues with Lip for about fifteen minutes before he finally agrees to come over. 

Mickey follows him back, because fuck Lip, man, this was their day. His birthday wasn’t anything special, but it was pretty rare nowadays that him and Ian had the same day off to just lay around and do fucking nothing. But he figures grabbing dinner at Ian’s where there’s a real stove wouldn’t be so bad, and maybe they could even watch a movie on the Gallagher’s couch after.

It had been better with Ian’s family, as far as Ian had let Mickey know. Mickey gets along fine with the younger ones. Carl’s cool, but insane, Debbie likes Mickey for some crazy, inexplicable reason, and Liam’s a fucking kid, and follows Mickey around the Gallagher house whenever he comes over. Mickey likes them, if he’s being honest, Mandy is his only younger sibling, but he never really got to hang out with her when they were kids, Mickey was always dragged wherever his older brothers wanted him to be.

Fiona and Lip were the main problems, but Fiona has softened over these past couple weeks to Mickey being around again. Lip is still Lip, and Mickey will probably despise the guy until the day he kicks the bucket, but he can deal with Lip if it means having Ian.

So it would never even occur to Mickey that Ian’s older siblings were planning something, or even that they knew it was Mickey’s birthday.

The lights are off when he and Ian walk into the house, and Mickey knows exactly what’s going to happen.

_ “Surprise!”  _

Everyone is there, jumping out from behind walls and furniture, wearing stupid fucking hats. There’s a fucking  _ banner _ that says happy birthday on it. Mickey looks around at the group they’ve gathered. There’s Svetlana, Kev V and Yev (and who he assumes are Kev and V’s twins), all the Gallagher’s, and even Mandy and Iggy. What the fuck.

Mickey turns to Ian, “I will fucking kill you,” he says.

Ian holds his hands up in the air, “I swear to God I did not fucking plan this.”

“It wasn’t Ian,” Lip says, approaching the two of them, and slapping a hand on Mickey’s shoulder, “It was ours. You ain’t a Gallagher until you’ve had your wishes ignored and a big party thrown for you anyway.”

“I’m so fucking honoured,” Mickey drawls.

“Just don’t go and almost jump off a bridge like Ian did,” Carl throws out from across the room, Debbie swats him over the head.

Ian and Mickey both cringe, but Ian manages to pull him through the small crowd of people, and into the kitchen to grab Mickey a beer.

“I didn’t know,” Ian says immediately, “I swear.”

Mickey shakes his head, twisting of the cap of a beer, “Relax, Gallagher, I know. Should’ve fucking guessed they would do this, though.”

Ian laughs, leans in and presses a kiss to Mickey’s mouth, “Do you wanna stay? Because if you wanna go, I can throw a fit. I’m really good at being dramatic.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, “We can stay” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Ian nods, says something about running his bag upstairs, leaving Mickey in the kitchen. The house is already loud, music resuming, drinks being passed out. Mickey chugs his beer and immediately grabs himself another one. There’s a fucking cake in the fridge, christ, the better not want to sing to him.

“Happy birthday big brother,” Mandy says, rounding the corner from the living room and punching Mickey in the arm. Y’know, affectionately. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Mickey mumbles back.

“My present to you is not giving you any shit about never fucking calling me,” Mandy retorts.

“You’re a real fucking saint.”

“But seriously,  _ Ian _ calls me once a week, so you would think my own flesh and blood brother could, too.”

Mickey just throws her the finger in response to that, and Mandy laughs, which Mickey can’t help but smile back at her for. He loves his sister, though he wouldn’t say it to her face (Milkoviches don’t do very well with that) and, yeah, he should probably call her more. He makes a mental note to wait a week just to annoy her, and then to call.

“How’s things?” Mandy asks, “The apartment? Work?”

Mickey nods, “It’s good.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What else do you fucking want? It’s good, it feels normal. Everything is... calm.”

“Weird.”

“Right?”

Mandy laughs, “It’ll last. Things seem to have settled everywhere now,” she grabs Mickey’s arm and pulls him into the living room where everyone is gathered.

The party, though Mickey hates to admit it, really isn’t that bad. He sits with Iggy for a little while of it, talking to him about his dealings. Iggy mentions that his dad is getting up to some really shady shit, but he’s staying out of it. Hoping that Terry will get locked up for the long haul pretty soon.

They do bring out a cake later on, but they don’t sing (Mickey thinks Ian had something to do with that, thank god.) Mickey blows out the candles, though, and can’t remember a time where he ever did that growing up.

Things start to wind down from there, the music gets a little quieter, and Mickey wanders back into the kitchen to get himself another beer, leaning up against the frame between the kitchen and the living room.

“I have serious question for you,” Svetlana says, coming to stand beside him.

Mickey swallows. He doesn’t like serious conversations with Svetlana.

“I want divorce.”

Mickey’s brain short circuits, “Huh?”

“I want to divorce you.”

“Why?”

“Well main reason is you are homosexual and we are not in love,” Svetlana says, in her typical “you stupid fuck” tone of voice, “Also... immigration is pain in the fucking butt, and not in good way. I figure you do not want to deal, so I am going to divorce you, and marry V. Make it seem more believable.”

“How is that any different from me and you being married?”

Svetlana raises an eyebrow at him.

“Shit,” Mickey says, “You love her?”

“I love  _ them _ ,” Svetlana says, her gaze going to where Kev and V are talking to Fiona.

Mickey nods, a bit disbelievingly, “Okay. Yeah, we can divorce.”

Svetlana nods, “You will still be in Yevgeny’s life,” she says, sternly.

“Of fucking course, I will be, bitch,” Mickey tosses back, “I’m his fucking dad.”

Svetlana smiles at him then leans down and presses a kiss to Mickey’s cheek, which he immediately wipes off because he can feel her fucking lip gloss all over him, yuck.

“You can marry your Orange boy now,” she whispers, quietly enough that Mickey knows he’s the only one who hears it, “If you want.”

Mickey’s throat closes up at the thought of that, and he nods stiffly in Svetlana’s direction.

Mickey watches Ian from across the room, he’s sitting on the ground with Yevgeny in his arms, Liam by his side, talking animatedly to them. Probably telling them some crazy story he’s making up on the spot, just to try and get them to laugh. It does weird things to Mickey’s stomach.

He thinks, probably for the first time, what it would be like to marry Ian. What Svetlana is saying makes that a possibility. For so long there were so many things in their way, that even the thought of marriage seemed ridiculous, stupid, or impossible.

And maybe they had been separated for a long time this past year, and maybe they were both different for it, but Mickey thinks that they’re both a bit better for it. Maybe they’re both still kids in some ways, and maybe they’re still immature and stupid in others. And there’s no way that Mickey is ready for marriage right now.

But right now, Mickey knows he’s going to marry Ian one day.

“Mickey!” Ian calls over to him across the room, “Get over here!”

And Mickey goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a final and biggest thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, leave kudos, comment, or even share this story. it's been literal years since i've managed to write and complete something of this length, let alone something that i was actually fairly happy (and proud???) of. so just - thank you!! and i hope you enjoyed the final chapter.
> 
> i can't promise a full-fledged sequel, but i do have a little something extra in the works that's within the same universe. i can't say when it will be out (because a lot of it still exists in my head) but the door isn't closed for stories in this verse. i never really close stories completely, there's always a chance for my imagination to create something different. :) i'm also definitely not finished writing for ian and mickey, i also have a little au thing in the works... so if you enjoyed this and want to read more from me, it would mean the world if you hung around to see what else comes up.
> 
> also, i'm back lurking on my old tumblr blog @ingridthird if that interests anyone.
> 
> xo, ems


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